UC-NRLF 


111    711 


GIFT  OF 
Berkeley  Public  Library* 


/   : 


sARWOOD . 


A  NOVEL 


BY   THE   AUTHOR    OF    "THE    ODD    TRUMP." 


flew 
E.  J.  HALE  &  SO^?  PUBLISHEBS, 

MUKRAY  STREET. 
1875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875.  by 

E.  J.  HALE  &  SOX, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


PR  EFACE. 


Most  Courteous  Reader  : 

The  Author  has  only  endeavoured  to  indicate  in 
these  pages  how  Youth  may  pass  into  Manhood  through  the 
portals  of  Grief;  how  Manhood  may  grow  into  full  maturity 
in  the  practice  of  self-abnegation,  without  the  lapse  of  years. 
For  the  rest,  the  story  is  simply  told,  and  appeals  to  noth- 
ing but  your  gentler  sympathies.  And  if  it  shall  happen  that 
the  characters  herein  rudely  sketched  shall  assume  shape  and 
identity,  and  grow  with  you,  as  they  have  with  him,  into 
living  realities,  and  so  awaken  your  kindly  interest,  then 
the  Author  will  have  accomplished  his  purpose  and  won  his 
reward. 


478743 


CONTENTS. 


HARWOOD. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER  I.     Preliminary 7 

II.     Book  Making. .-. 11 

{II.     The  First  Ordeal 15 

IV.     The  Second  Ordeal 19 

Y.     The  Third  Ordeal 23 

VI.  The  Third  Ordeal  Concluded 26 

VII.  Eureka! 31 

HERBERT'S    JOURNAL. 

CHAPTER  VIII.     First  Impressions 36 

IX.  The  Haunted  Laurels 45 

X.  Captain  Delaney 53 

XL     Misteono 55 

XII.  The  Doctor 60 

XIII.  Ret 64 

XIV     Herbert V8 

XV.  Kindred 92 

XVI.  A  Parting 96 

A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS 130 

HERBERT'S  JOURNAL  RESUMED. 

CHAPTER  XVII.     Mr.  Denham 129 

XVIII.  Allen  Harwood's .  Letter 134 

XIX.  Wheal  Pentland 133 

XX.  Heartbroken 148 

XXL     Recognition 156 

XXII.  TheCrisis : 170 

XXIII.  Barnard  Harwood 178 

XXIV.  A  Year  Later. .                                     190 


HARWOOD. 


CHAPTER    I. 
PRELIMINARY. 

YE  who  listen  with  credulity  to  the  whispers  of  fancy,  and 
pursue  with  eagerness  the  phantoms  of  hope  $  who  expect 
that  age  will  perform  the  promises  of  youth,  and  that  the  deficien- 
cies of  the  present  day  will  be  supplied  by  the  morrow  ;  attend  to 
the  story  of  "  Harwood  "  and  the  publishers. 

The  foregoing  is  a  slight  improvement  upon  the  opening  sentence 
of  "  Easselas."  It  has  been  quoted  to  many  an  unhappy  student 
of  rhetoric  as  the  culmination  of  elegance  in  English  composition. 
It  is  an  undeniable  fact  that  this  history  of  the  Abyssinian  prince, 
admitted  to  the  front  rank  among  English  classics,  is  almost  un- 
known to  the  present  enlightened  age ;  and  it  may  be  that  it  has 
been  ostracized,  like  Aristides  the  Just,  because  humanity  cannot 
stand  prolonged  arrogant  assumption,  even  if  well  founded.  The 
courteous  reader  will,  therefore,  please  note  that  the  above  sentence 
is  a  quotation.  The  last  thing  I  should  dream  of  doing  would  be 
to  kill  Harwood  by  writing  too  elegantly  at  the  outset. 

To  descend  to  plain  prose,  then,  I  invoke  the  reader's  patience 
while  I  relate  the  story  of  Harwood's  birth.  And  I  counsel  the 
cultivation  of  this  virtue  the  more  earnestly,  not  only  because  of 
its  inherent  excellence,  but  also  because  patience  is  the  very  attri- 
bute that  will  be  most  exercised  in  getting  through  the  following 
pages. 

More  than  a  dozen  years  ago  I  was  an  exile  from  home  and 
kindred.  It  does  not  matter  how  this  came  about,  and  it  is  enough 
to  say  that  the  exile  was  endured  in  the  way  of  known  duty.  The 
Sahara  to  which  I  banished  myself  was  the  City  of  New  York,  and 
the  solitude  of  that  desert  was  the  more  horrible  from  the  density 


•  ;i  • 

:":  %, 


8  HABWOOD. 

of  its  population.  Some  good  writer,  whose  name  Las  escaped  me, 
has  made  a  similar  remark  in  different  language,  and  the  fact  that 
two  writers,  who  have  never  met  to  exchange  opinions,  should 
assert  the  same  general  proposition,  is  a  strong  argument  in  favour 
of  its  verity. 

During  the  day  I  was  constantly  occupied,  having  charge  of 
interests  of  considerable  importance,  and  labouring  under  a  con- 
sciousness of  responsibility  that  was  heavy  enough  to  keep  my 
thoughts  employed.  But 

"  "When  night  came  o'er  the  plain, 

And  moonlight  o'er  the  sea," 

\ 

I  found  myself  longing  for  human  companionship.  I  wandered 
about  the  corridors  of  the  hotel,  and  looked,  with  all  the  curiosity 
I  could  muster,  upon  the  various  types  of  humanity  that  crowded 
them.  In  all  seriousness,  I  was  an  object  of  pity,  because  in  all 
the  throngs  I  there  encountered  night  after  night,  there  was  not  a 
solitary  being  that  awakened  or  experienced  one  thought  of  human 
sympathy  within  me  or  for  me.  The  hotel  life  became  intolerable 
within  a  week.  To  escape  from  it  I  wandered  through  scores  of 
streets  running  from  the  Hudson  to  East  Eiver  in  search  of  lodg- 
ings. At  last  I  found  a  house  in  a  quiet  neighbourhood,  where  I 
rented  a  room.  The  excitement  of  the  change  and  the  study  of 
my  new  surroundings  availed  for  two  or  three  nights,  and  then  the 
loneliness  came  back. 

In  all  essentials  my  life  was  a  vagrant  one.  I  always  got  out 
of  the  house  when  dawn  arrived,  and  wandered  about  the  streets 
aimlessly  until  breakfast  time.  I  not  only  wanted  companionship 
but  I  also  wanted  good  coffee.  At  the  period  to  which  I  refer  cof- 
fee in  its  virgin  state  was  a  very  expensive  article,  but  coffee  that 
was  made  of  chicory,  baked  beans,  burnt  sugar  and  sole  leather  was 
comparatively  cheap.  It  is  highly  probable  that  tea  of  some  sort 
of  chop,  unsophisticated,  could  be  found  in  most  of  the  eating 
places  5  but  coffee,  never !  I  read  with  a  daily  shudder  about  forty 
signs  in  shop  windows,  which  mendaciously  announced  that  the 
purest  Mocha  or  Java  (always  roasted  and  ground,  so  as  to  defy 
analysis)  could  be  obtained  within  at  an  absurdly  low  figure.  My 
early  education  had  been  faulty  in  that  I  had  never  been  taught  to 
imbibe  tea.  In  my  mind's  eye  this  fragrant  beverage  was  ever- 
more associated  in  some  weird  fashion  with  panada,  senna  and 
manna,  quassia  and  chamomile  flowers.  I  longed  for  coffee  but  I 


PRELIMINARY.  9 

found  it  not.  Why,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  did  not  some  enter- 
prising Yankee  open  a  coffee  house  on  Broadway,  and  set  a  little 
nigger  in  the  window  behind  plate  glass,  and  let  him  turn  a  coffee 
roaster,  fed  with  the  genuine  berry  in  sight  of  an  admiring  public  ? 
He  would  have  rivalled  Astor  in  wealth  by  this  time. 

I  got  meals  in  this  vagabond  fashion  at  numberless  eating  places, 
from  Delmonico's  down  or  up,  as  the  reader  chooses.  I  cannot 
say  that  I  ate  breakfast  or  dinner.  I  fed  just  as  a  horse  does,  but 
did  not  dine.  You  cannot  dine  in  a  civilized  manner  while  your 
jaws  only  masticate  in  grim  silence.  They  were  also  intended  to 
be  used  in  conversation  ;  but  in  my  dining  places  I  heard  no  con- 
versation— nothing  but  the  clatter  of  dishes  and  the  gnashing  of 
teeth.  This  was  suggestive,  and  my  loneliness  increased.  I  began 
to  pity  myself.  And  here  I  paus^  to  warn  the  gentle  reader  to  avoid 
similar  folly.  It  is  the  first  step  toward  madness.  It  is  the  most 
indigo  hued  of  Blue  Devils  ! 

One  night  I  met  the  landlady  as  I  entered  my  lodgings,  and  she 
very  politely  invited  me  into  the  parlour,  saying,  "  I  would  find  it 
more  cheerful.7'  In  sheer  desperation  I  followed  her,  and  she  in- 
troduced me  formally  to  four  men  and  four  women.  They  were  all 
eight  talking  when  I  entered,  but  my  glum  countenance  dampened 
them  for  a  little  time.  I  sat  by  a  young  lady,  and  after  due  delib. 
eration  I  startled  her  by  announcing  that  it  had  rained  that  day. 
It  is  possible  that  she  had  learned  the  fact  before,  but  she  was  too 
polite  to  say  so.  And  then,  the  ice  being  broken,  all  eight  began 
to  talk  again.  They  talked  at  me,  across  me,  under  my  arm,  over 
my  head,  and  every  way  but  to  me.  I  cannot  say  what  kept  them 
back,  but  they  were  somehow  repelled.  I  was  negatively  magnet- 
ized. They  had  but  one  topic,  upon  which  they  rung  countless 
changes.  It  was — well — let  us  say — the  taking  of  Sebastopol. 

My  heart  was  sick  of  Sebastopol,  of  Inkermann  and  of  Balaklava. 
The  Charge  of  the  Six  Hundred  seemed  to  be  a  very  foolish  piece 
of  business,  and  I  had  a  horrible  suspicion  that  the  account 
was  about  three  quarters  lies.  But  the  women — two  of  them  were 
deeply  pious — made  a  kind  of  hideous  religion  out  of  the  taking  of 
Sebastopol.  The  Eugged  Eussian  Bear  was  the  Yicar  Apostolic  of 
the  enemy  of  mankind.  Those  of  the  Six  Hundred  who  rode,  as 
Tennyson  says,  into  the  mouth  of  some  place,  came  out  again  and 
were  incontinently  canonized.  I  don't  believe  they  came  out  at 
all.  While  the  talk  went  on  I  sat  apart  and  mused.  I  thought 
of  thousands  of  gentle  women,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  little  chil- 


10  HARWOOD.      % 

dren,  who  were  widowed  and  orphaned  by  the  glorious  strife  over 
which  those  four  women  gloated.  There  was  nothing  in  their  talk 
to  indicate  any  personal  interest  in  the  savage  contest,  but  it  is 
certain  that  they  feasted  most  ravenously  where  the  carnage  was 
greatest.  One  of  the  men  was  Reverend,  and  I  said  something  to 
him  about  this  strange  appetite  that  possessed  the  women.  His 
answer  was  a  quotation  from  Holy  Writ :  "  For  wheresoever  the 
carcase  is  there  will  the  eagles  be  gathered  together."  He  meant 
me  to  understand  that  the  women  were  she  eagles,  and  he  thought 
the  eagles  were  good  birds.  I  did  not  tell  him  that  those  men- 
tioned in  his  quotation  fed  on  carrion.  It  was  less  lonely  in  my 
room,  and  I  slipped  out  unnoticed,  leaving  them  regaling. 

It  was  too  early  for  bed,  so  I  lighted  a  cigar.  Something  that 
had  been  said  in  the  parlour  brought  to  my  mind  a  family  I  had 
known  in  another  city.  There  were  some  remarkable  incidents  in 
their  history,  and  as  the  smoke  gathered  around  my  head  I  began 
to  fill  up  intervals  in  their  story,  weaving  a  sort  of  plot.  I  found 
comfort  here,  and  getting  my  portfolio  I  began  to  write.  It  was 
a  total  change  in  my  habits  of  thought :  It  was  the  inception  of  a 
Purpose :  I  would  write  a  Book  ! 

And  so,  night  after  night,  for  months,  the  work  proceeded.  My 
loneliness  was  gone.  The  people  who  grew  up  into  shape  and  in- 
dividuality were  living  realities  to  me.  Oh,  reader !  if  they  shall 
also  grow  into  realities  with  thee ! 

Thus  was  "Harwood"  born.  During  the  day  the  calls  upon  my 
faculties  were  almost  incessant,  but  I  would  catch  myself  or  my 
thoughts  at  odd  intervals  slipping  away  from  the  unreal  events  of 
my  daily  life  to  the  dear  friends  who  were  waiting  for  me  in  my 
portfolio.  I  always  quitted  them  with  regret  and  returned  to  them 
with  delight.  In  them  I  found  companionship  and  sympathy.  I 
did  not  force  them  to  keep  within  any  set  grooves.  I  had  settled 
their  destinies,  it  is  true ;  yet  I  allowed  them  to  reach  their  various 
goals  in  their  own  way.  Ordinarily,  they  were  tractable  enough, 
but  sometimes  they  took  the  bit  in  their  teeth  and  bolted.  The 
reader  will  please  bear  this  in  mind,  and  whenever  these  characters 
misbehave  in  any  way,  remember  that  the  author  was  blameless. 

One  night — or  rather  one  morning,  for  I  remember  hearing  the 
clock  strike  two — I  wrote  "  Finis."  It  was  a  great  shock  to  me. 
For  a  week  I  was  dispirited  and  nervous,  and  then  I  began  a 
sequel:  "The  Lacy  Diamonds."  Have  patience,  gentle  reader; 
it  is  progressing. 


BOOK  MAKING.  11 

CHAPTER   II. 
BOOK  MAKING. 

"TTTHEN  "  Harwood "  was  finished  I  was  still  a  comparative 
V  V  stranger  in  New  York.  I  had  business  acquaintances  by 
the  score,  but  I  had  no  intimate  friends.  The  good  natured  people 
whom  I  encountered  in  my  daily  occupation  treated  me  well  and 
kindly,  but  I  knew  none  of  them  well  enough  to  venture  even  a 
hint  of  authorship  to  them.  Busy  men,  all  of  them,  hunting  dol- 
lars while  the  sun  shone,  and  begrudging  the  minutes  wasted  in 
unremunerative  conversation.  There  were  certain  topics  of  ab- 
sorbing interest  to  me  which  would  also  interest  them.  But  they 
all  looked  at  these  only  on  one  side,  and  I  soon  discovered  the 
profitless  nature  of  any  discussions. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  business  brought  me  into  contact  with 
a  publishing  house  that  had  not  been  long  established  in  the  me- 
tropolis. The  accidental  acquaintance  thus  begun  ripened  rap- 
idly into  friendship.  The  members  of  this  firm  knew  something 
about  Sebastopol  and  the  Charge  of  the  Six  Hundred,  and  held 
my  views  about  that  notable  conflict.  It  was  very  refreshing  to 
me  to  spend  occasional  half  hours  in  this  pleasant  company ;  and 
meeting  always  a  cordial  welcome,  I  gradually  fell  into  the 
regular  habit  of  smoking  my  after-lunch  cigar  in  their  establish- 
ment, discussing  new  books  with  reference  both  to  their  commer- 
cial value  and  their  intrinsic  merits.  Yery  frequently  I  would 
find  them  engaged  in  reading  and  correcting  proofs  of  their  own 
publications,  of  which  they  already  had  a  considerable  list.  I  had 
forgotten  "Harwood,"  which  was  packed  away  among  sundry 
fragmentary  manuscripts  at  home — after  taking  a  journey  which 
will  be  recounted  in  the  succeeding  chapter.  I  retained  a  som- 
nolent sort  of  interest  in  the  bantling,  feeling  a  father's  affection 
for  it,  mingled  with  a  compassionate  appreciation  of  its  demerits. 
With  Touchstone  I  thought,  "  An  ill-favoured  thing,  sir,  but  mine 
own."  So,  while  I  gathered  in  many  new  facts,  and  became  some- 
what learned  in  the  art  of  book  making,  the  thought  of  getting 
"  Harwood  "  dressed  in  type  never  occurred  to  me. 

As  a  rule,  my  friends  did  not  publish  fictitious  literature. 
Beams  of  this  description  of  property  were  offered  to  them  on 
the  most  flattering  terms.  Nearly  all  the  authors  who  sent  their 


12  HAEWOOD. 

precious  manuscripts  generously  proposed  that  the  firm  should 
print  the  work  at  their  own  expense,  and  allow  the  usual  royalty 
to  the  writer.  I  am  convinced  that  none  of  the  authors  dreamed 
of  anything  less  than  ten  editions,  if  the  work  could  only  be  got 
into  print  and  within  reach  of  a  hydra-headed  public,  waiting 
with  bated-  breath  for  copie%,  hot  from  the  press.  As  our  inti- 
macy progressed  I  learned  the  stereotyped  form  of  rejection. 
"  The  present  state  of  trade  ;"  "  would  be  pleased  to  print  at  the 
expense  of  the  author,  involving  an  outlay  of  so  many  dollars ;" 
and  other  polite  intimations  that  must  have  been  eminently  dis- 
gusting to  the  manuscript  makers.  There  seemed  to  be  an  inex- 
orable law  that  connected  authorship  with  irapecuniosity. 

On  one  occasion  I  happened  to  be  present  when  my  friends 
were  packing  up  one  of  these  forlorn  manuscripts  to  return  "  by 
express  "  to  the  rightful  owner.  I  had  heard  of  its  arrival  some 
days  previously. 

u  Have  you  really  read  that  great  mass  of  papers  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Certainly ,"  answered  the  junior. 

"  How  much  is  there  IP 

"  Seven  hundred  and  eight  pages,"  he  replied. 

"  What  is  it  about  F 

"I  don't  know.  The  title  is — "  and  he  turned  the  parcel 
over  and  consulted  the  first  page — "  l  The  Eemorse  of  the  Yictim.' 
There  are  some  very  good  things  in(it.  Some  of  the  words  are  in 
five  syllables.'7 

"  Did  you  understa-nd  them  all  f '  said  I. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered  coolly.  "  I  don't  think  the  author 
understood  them  either,  but  that  makes  no  difference.  Did  you 
ever  read  '  Talmanasia  f  " 

"  No." 

"Nor'Shanghif" 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  I  replied,  with  a  shudder. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  grisly  compassion,  "  you  are  not 
abreast  of  the  age!  Haven't  read  'Shanghi!'  Don't  you  ever 
read  anything  f " 

"  Yes,"  I  faltered,  "  I  read  the  Herald  sometimes.  Have  you 
read  l  Shanghi  V  " 

"Not  exactly  read  it,  but  I  have  sold  five  hundred  copies.  It  is 
a  great  success.  The  publisher  paid  ten  thousand  dollars  for  the 
manuscript  and  copyright.  Made  money  on  his  investment  too." 

This  interview  made  a  profound  impression  upon  me.    i  knew  a 


BOOK  MAKING.  13 

man  who  was  the  happy  owner  of  "  Shanghi,"  and  as  my  con- 
science forbade  an  investment  in  that  direction,  I  borrowed  the 
book,  from  which  I  had  read  sundry  extracts  when  it  appeared, 
That  night  I  sat  down  resolutely  and  began  the  book.  I  read  two 
chapters  at  the  beginning,  two  in  the  middle,  and  two  at  the  end 
of  the  story.  I  did  not  have  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  nor  cerebro- 
spinal  meningitis ;  but  I  shall  die  in  the  belief  that  an  additional 
chapter  would  have  given  me  both  these  ailments  with  a  touch  of 
delirium  tremens  thrown  in.  The  next  day  I  took  "  Harwood " 
with  me  at  lunch  time  and  left  it  with  my  Mend. 

"  I  have  known  you  to  read  about  forty  bulkier  manuscripts,'7 1 
said,  "  and  I  have  brought  this  for  you  to  read.  I  just  want  your 
candid  judgment,  comparing  this  with  the  forty  you  have  read  and 
rejected.  Of  course  I  have  no  expectation  of  printing  it.  Bead  it 
at  your  leisure.'7 

"  What  is  it  f  said  he. 

"  It  is  a  novel  which  I  wrote  some  years  ago.  It  kept  me  from 
going  mad  while  I  was  making  it.  If  you  find,  in  attempting  to 
read  it,  any  symptoms  of  delirium  tremens  creeping  over  you,  I 
hope  you  will  stop  in  time.  I  have  not  read  one  line  in  it  since 
I  finished  it,  and  I  do  not  expect  ever  to  read  a  line  of  it  in  the 
future." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered  cheerfully,  "  I  will  read  it  with, 
pleasure." 

It  will  only  be  when  the  gentle  reader  closes  this  book  (with  a 
sigh  of  relief)  that  he  can  appreciate  my  amazement  at  my  next 
interview  with  my  book  making  friend. 

"  i  Harwood 7  is  a  first  class  story,"  said  he,  decidedly,  "  and  we 
will  be  glad  to  publish  it  if  you  desire  us  to  do  so." 

"  Are  you  serious  F  said  I. 

"  Entirely  serious,"  he  answered.  "  We  will  print  it  whenever 
you  say  the  word,  but  I  advise  you  first  to  try  some  one  else — I 
mean  some  other  publishers." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  I  replied.  "  I  have  little  or  no 
acquaintance  with  other  publishers,  and  if  I  had  I  would  select 
your  house  out  of  the  whole  world  of  publishers.  What  do  you 
mean  by  such  advice  P 

"  Simply  this :  we  are  not  much  known  to  the  trade  as  pub- 
lishers, especially  of  fiction,  and  our  customers  are  mainly  among 
houses  that  do  not  deal  in  novels.  Now,  it  can  do  no  harm  to 
take  <  Harwood '  to  these  other  firms  which  have  a  larger  outlet 


14  HAEWOOD. 

for  just  this  sort  of  literature,  and  if  they  will  print  it,  giving  you 
a  copyright,  let  them  have  it  on  any  reasonable  terms  they  may 
propose.  Haven't  you  written  another  story  V 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  with  a  charming  blush,  "I  have  written  a 
sequel  to  c  Harwood ? — that  is,  I  am  writing  it  now." 

"Well,  suppose  you  get  one  of  these  firms  who  have  a  large  list 
of  novel-buying  customers  to  issue  <  Harwood,'  and  suppose  they 
place  it  in  the  hands  of  five  or  ten  thousand  readers,  don't  you  see 
that  another  novel  by  the  author  of  i Harwood7  would  have  a 
large  sale  ?" 

The  senior  partner  stood  by,  apparently  endorsing  this  proposi- 
tion. These  gentlemen  have  had  large  experience  in  book  mak- 
ing, I  thought,  and  they  must  be  right. 

"  Have  you  read  <  Harwood  f  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  all  of  it,"  he  replied,  composedly.  "  I  have  looked  over 
it.  You  know,  if  we  print  it  I  shall  have  the  opportunity  to  read 
the  proofs.  Your  penmanship  is  peculiar,  very  peculiar.  I  have 
read  manuscript  for  forty  years,  and  thought  I  was  equal  to  any- 
thing, but  yours  is very  peculiar." 

It  did  not  seem  politic  to  pursue  this  branch  of  the  subject.  I 
tucked  "  Harwood  "  under  my  arm  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  us,"  said  the  junior,  following  me  to 
the  door.  "  We  would  be  glad  to  publish  your  book  at  once,  but, 
for  your  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  larger  circulation,  you 
had  better  let  Pippinville  or  Charlesburg  have  it.  They  have  an 
outlet  for  ten  thousand  copies,  and  that  is  better  than  ten  thous- 
and separate  advertisements.  Go  to  Pippinville!  I  read  the 
manuscript  aloud,  and  all  my  auditors  pronounced  it  a  first  rate 
story.  If  you  are  doubtful,  you  might  submit  it  to  some  other 
critic,  in  whom  you  have  confidence;  but,  remember,  we  are  ready 
to  print  whenever  you  say  the  word.  I  don't  like  the  title  much; 
it  indicates  nothing." 

al'll  call  it  <  The  Eemorse  of  the  Victim,' "  I  said  promptly. 

"  I  don't  think  that  would  be  an  improvement.  What  do  you 
call  your  other  story  $ 

"  '  The  Lacy  Diamonds.'" 

"  That  is  better.    Good  morning." 


TEE  FIRST  OEDEAL.  15 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  FIRST  ORDEAL. 

T  HAVE  read  somewhere  of  a  young  mother  who  waited  with  un- 
-i-  speakable  anxiety  for  the  verdict  of  society  upon  her  baby.  To 
her  it  was  the  loveliest  iufant  that  ever  wore  long  clothes.  It 
did  not  talk  or  walk,  but  that  mother  was  entirely  satisfied  that 
it  could  do  both  if  it  pleased.  She  had  always  rather  liked  babies, 
and  made  full  allowance  for  any  little  departures  from  the  path  of 
rectitude  of  which  they  were  guilty ;  but  the  peculiarity  in  her 
baby's  case  was  that  it  made  no  such  departures.  When  it  first 
said  "  Goo !" — which,  by-the-bye,  is  a  very  common  remark  for  in- 
fants to  make — that  mother  translated  the  monosyllable  into  a 
long  speech  in  English  without  the  aid  of  lexicographers.  If  you 
had  the  temerity  to  suggest  a  possible  error  in  her  rendering  of 
"  Goo !"  this  young  mother,  if  polite,  would  not  pluralize  the 
original  and  apply  it  to  you  in  words,  but  she  would  do  so  in  her 
inmost  soul. 

Some  such  experience  was  mine  a  few  months  ago  when  I  dug 
"  Harwood  "  out  of  a  mass  of  fragmentary  manuscripts.  You  see 
it  was  my  first  born.  The  horrible  dread  of  a  public  verdict — the 
possible  bete  noir  of  all  embryo  authors — haunted  me  and  kept  the 
precious  infant  hidden  a  dozen  years.  I  cannot  tell  what  brought 
him  to  light  at  last,  but  am  free  to  confess  that  I  entertained  a 
profound  affection  for  him.  I  did  not  read  the  manuscript !  There 
were  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  closely  written  pages!  It  was 
written  on  foreign  post  paper,  very  thin  and  flimsy,  and  the  ink 
had  faded  a  little.  I  had  selected  this  paper  because  I  intended 
to  mail  the  manuscript  to  Parlours'  London  Journal,  which  in  fact 
I  did.  I  do  not  call  that  the  first  ordeal,  however,  because  nobody 
with  a  grain  of  sense  could  expect  a  journal  that  published  such 
trash  as  Parlours'  contained  would  appreciate  "  Harwood."  In 
due  time  I  got  my  manuscript  back  with  a  polite  note  (I  don't 
believe  the  fellow  read  a  page  of  it),  and  a  gentle  rebuke  for  not 
sending  "  postage  stamps  for  return  MS.,"  according  to  advertise- 
ment. It  is  only  just  to  qualify  the  above  remark  about  trash, 
which  should  be  limited  to  the  serial  stories  in  Parlours'.  All  the 
rest  is  of  good  quality. 

Between  the  date  of  "  Har  wood's"  birth— or  I  should  say  his  death^ 


16  HARWOOD. 

at  the  murderous  hands  of  Parlours' — and  the  date  of  his  resurrec- 
tion, I  had  written  sundry  small  squibs,  waifs  upon  the  broad  sea 
of  light  literature,  and  these  had  met  with  a  fair  degree  of  success. 
They  were  printed  in  a  monthly  still  living,  and  which  I  hope  may 
live  a  thousand  years.  The  editor  (may  he  live  a  thousand  years, 
too!)  has  been  my  true  and  constant  friend,  and  one  strong  mani- 
festation of  his  friendship  was  in  his  treatment  of  my  fugitives. 
He  would  change  objectionable  words,  and  mend  my  lapses  in 
taste  or  diction — never  altering  but  to  improve,  never  touching 
but  to  adorn.  Sometimes  he  would  wholly  reject  some  carelessly 
written  story,  healing  the  bruise  to  my  vanity  by  saying  "  it  was 
not  worthy  of  my  reputation !"  and,  he  was  always  right  in  the  re- 
jection, if  his  salve  was  a  flattering  unction.  I  knew  his  taste  was 
perfect,  his  judgment  sound,  and  his  scholarship  beyond  question. 
Had  I  been  handled  by  a  critic  less  acute  or  less  friendly  I  should 
have  been  snubbed,  and  should  have  laid  my  pen  aside.  But  he 
encouraged  while  he  instructed  me,  and  of  all  the  helpers  I  have 
met  in  my  literary  working  he  has  been  most  helpful.  What  can 
I  render  him  in  requital  ?  I  dedicate  "  Harwood  "  to  him  with  the 
hand  of  my  heart. 

Having  said  this  much  in  his  praise,  the  melancholy  duty  re- 
mains to  say  a  word  per  contra.  He  is  an  editor!  To  fill  this 
office  worthily  it  is  necessary  that  a  man  should  divest  himself  of 
ordinary  human-  attributes.  Of  course,  I  refer  to  editors  of  maga- 
zines, whose  chief  writing  is  in  the  reviews  or  critical  notices  of 
new  books.  Your  regular  review  writer  is  not  necessarily  trucu- 
lent, as  in  most  cases  he  does  not  read  the  books  whose  titles  he 
places  at  the  head  of  his  articles,  using  them  merely  as  mottoes, 
upon  which  he  builds  his  essay.  He  need  not  read  more  than  a 
sentence  or  two  (in  order  to  quote)  and  he  scarifies  or  pats  his 
author  on  the  back  without  the  slightest  reference  to  the  special 
deliverance  under  review,  but  with  due  regard  to  his  previous  re- 
cord, his  political  or  theological  proclivities,  or  any  other  matter 
which  the  reviewer  wishes  to  praise  or  blame.  I  know  this  is  the 
system,  for  I,  also,  have  written  quarterly  articles.  But  this  does 
not  apply  to  your  magazine  editor ! 

The  busy  bee  sucks  his  sustenance  from  the  opening  flower,  and 
it  is  honey.  The  gentle  lamb  that  little  Laura  had,  and  the  cross- 
grained  old  rani  he  became  in  later  mouths,  subsisted  on  grass. 
The  giraffe  that  stalks  over  the  arid  African  desert  browses  on  the 
tree  tops.  The  ostrich,  his  countryman,  is  said  to  feed  on  ten- 


THE  FIRST  OEDEAL.  If 

penny  nails.  The  fierce  Kodent,  whose  story  is  so  frequently  re- 
peated in  "The  House  that  Jack  built,"  ate  corn  or  malt,  and  was 
eaten  in  turn  by  Grimalkin.  The  larger  feline  beast  that  prowls 
in  tropic  jungles,  with  shaggy  mane  and  hideous  roar,  eats  ante- 
lopes and  other  small  deer — and  man  eats  meat  and  bread  until 
he  becomes  an  editorial  critic.  Then  he  changes  his  diet  and  sub- 
sists upon  the  gore  of  authors !  He  tomahawks  them,  he  scalps 
them  (unless  they  have  failed  to  use  the  Balm  of  Columbia  and 
have  ceased  to  be  hirsute),  and  he  sucks  their  blood.  He  sits 
upon  their  carcases  like  a  vampire  and  fans  them  with  his  wings 
while  he  drains  their  arteries ! 

As  my  kind  friend  belonged  to  this  fraternity  it  would  hardly 
be  supposed  that  I  would  trust  "  Harwood  "  in  his  clutches.  But 
I  did.  It  was  like  sending  a  dear  little  infant  to  play  in  the  lava 
beds  with  Captain  Jack  in  the  neighbourhood.  But  I  did  it,  thus 
•arguing: 

If  he  grinds  his  bones  into  powder  and  gloats  over  my  misery 
in  bereavement,  it  will  be  in  manuscript,  and,  therefore,  more  toler- 
able. It  is  far  better  to  be  crushed  in  this  form  than  in  print. 
And,  besides,  he  has  to  crunch  the  bones,  like  Bulwer's  Griffin,  in 
solitude,  and  cannot  appeal  to  an  admiring  public  until  the  book 
is  published.  Then,  he  has  praised  my  minor  efforts  once  and 
again,  and  perhaps  he  may  say,  "  it  is  no  worse  than  the  current 
trash  of  the  day !"  Or  he  may  have  recently  gorged  himself  with 
the  gore  of  some  unlucky  wretch  who  preceded  me,  and,  with 
sated  appetite,  would  glance  complacently  over  part  of  the  hun- 
dred and  fifty-six  pages.  Or  he  may  dismiss  me  with  a  graceful 
wave  of  his  editorial  hand,  and  with  compassionate  kindness  say, 
"  Burn  it,  my  friend,  burn  it !"  These  are  the  various  things  I 
expected.  I  knew  he  would  tell  the  truth ;  I  knew  he  would  pounce 
upon  blemishes  and  root  them  out ;  and  one  morning  I  drank  a 
cup  of  strong  coffee  and  sent  him  my  manuscript ! 

After  the  thing  was  done  beyond  recall  I  began  to  repent.  I 
did  not  much  care  for  the  demolition  of  my  book,  but  I  suddenly 
remembered  that  my  characters  would  also  perish !  "  Oh,  my 
gentle  Eet !"  I  thought,  "  how  could  I  be  so  cruel  as  to  consign 
thee  to  such  tender  mercies  !  If  I  had  sent  thee  to  visit  Scarfaced 
Charley  it  is  true  thy  lovely  tresses  might  dangle  at  the  belt  of 
the  savage,  but  now !  thou  art  exposed  to  a  more  hideous  fate ! 
In  painting  thee  I  have  dealt  so  tenderly  with  thee  from  the  very 
first  that  I  have  grown  to  love  thee,  my  darling,  and  now,  poof ! 

2 


18  HARWOOD. 

with  one  stroke  of  his  pen  this  vampire  will  consign  thee  to  blank 
annihilation."  I  was  heartily  miserable.  Parlours'  murder  did 
not  hurt  me  one  whit,  but  this  time,  if  killed,  "  Harwood  "  would 
be  beyond  the  curative  powers  of  burnt  brandy. 

And  so  passed  two  wretched  days.  On  the  third  my  manu- 
script came  back,  neatly  wrapped  up  and  sealed.  You  know 
when  you  bury  a  fellow  you  put  him  in  a  mahogany  box  and  var- 
nish it.  My  friend  is  neat  and  orderly  in  his  habits,  and  I  fancied 
I  could  see  him  smacking  his  lips  as  he  wrapped  up  that  corpse, 
and  gleefully  wrote  my  address  in  those  plain  round  characters  of 
his.  I  knew,  when  I  should  raise  the  lid — I  mean,  unwrap  the 
parcel — I  should  find  his  "  comments  "  among  the  bones,  written 
in  the  same  plain  hand. 

Brush  away  the  tears  from  your  eyes,  dear  sympathizing  reader, 
and  go  on  with  me  to  the  end.  I  untied  the  parcel,  found  the 
comments  neatly  folded  reposing  upon  the  first  page  of  my  manu- 
script, and,  summoning  all  my  manhood,  I  opened  and  read  what 
follows : 

"  MY  DEAR :  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  send  that  story  to 

any  publisher ;  and  as  for  the  critics,  you  may  snap  your  fingers 
at  them.  It  is  good — out  and  out.  I  had  intended  taking  it  by 
instalments  of  30  or  40  pp.,  but  I  got  so  interested  in  the  thing 
that  I  went  clear  through  in  two  sittings.  It  is  natural,  affecting, 
powerful. 

"But " 

The  reader  need  not  heed  the  "  buts,"  though  I  did.  A  whole 
army  of  "  buts  "  could  not  vanquish  that  elegant  sentence  which 
I  have  honestly  quoted,  every  word.  You  cannot  add  to  it.  Oh, 
reader,  be  encouraged !  If  a  blood-thirsty  editor  could  say  so 
much,  what  must  thou  not  say,  who  art  so  kind  and  gentle  ?  Oh, 
critic !  let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests ;  u  Harwood  "  bears 
a  charmed  life ! 

Here  endeth  ordeal  the  first. 


THE  SECOND.  ORDEAL.  19 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  SECOND  ORDEAL. 

nnHOSE  "buts"  of  my  friendly  critic  gave  me  occupation  for 
-L  several  nights.  I  cannot  point  out  all  the  amendments  he 
suggested  now.  The  reader  will  please  give  him  credit  for  any 
passages  that  appear  particularly  brilliant.  The  needed  emenda- 
tion was  a  labour  of  love,  and  I  was  specially  elated  at  the  thought 
that  I  had  '"  bagged  n  one  of  the  gunners,  whose  business  was  to 
slaughter  romances.  As  for  the  rest — Thomas,  Richard  and  Henry 
—I  have  been  snapping  my  fingers  at  them,  in  my  mind's  eye,  ever 
since  I  emerged  from  the  primal  ordeal.  The  athlete  who  comes 
unscarred  from  his  first  arena  enters  the  second  with  the  calm  con- 
fidence that  presages  victory. 

It  was  necessary  to  make  a  selection.  There  are  numerous  pub- 
lishers in  this  happy  country,  who  give  to  its  myriad  readers  all 
sorts  of  printed  pabulum.  I  could  not  divide  "Harwood"  to 
oblige  them,  and  I  did  not  desire  to  stir  up  a  contention  among 
them  by  letting  them  all  know  the  manuscript  was  open  to  propo- 
sitions from  type  setters.  Clearly,  I  was  bound  to  move  cautiously 
and  see  what  "  terms  "  would  be  proposed.  One  at  a  time. 

The  name  that  first  occurred  to  me  was 

FIDLER  &  BROTHERS. 

There  were  four  reasons  for  giving  this  firm  the  precedence :  first, 
they  publish  an  unlimited  quantity  of  novels.  It  is  probable  that 
they  have  some  mode  of  classification  unknown  to  the  general  pub- 
lic, but  I  arranged  them  in  three  classes  in  my  own  mind — as  those 
I  had  read,  those  I  had  tried  to  read,  and  those  from  whose  titles  I 
had  recoiled  with  unspeakable  horror.  Among  the  first  class  was  a 
recent  novel  called  "  Biddy's  Mistress.".  I  read  this  while  it  was  be- 
ing printed  serially  in  Parlours' Journal,  and  survived,  because  I  took 
it  in  small  doses  as  one  takes  castor  oil  in  small,  gelatinous  capsules. 
The  only  impression  left  by  the  story  is  a  feeling  of  thankfulness 
that  it  is  over,  and  will  not  have  to  be  taken  again.  I  may  as  well 
say  here,  that  "Biddy's  Mistress  "  is  by  the  author  of  about  a  dozen 
similar  stories  that  have  appeared  serially  in  Parlours'  Journal, 
and  I  am  satisfied  that  they  were  all  written  by  the  editor  of  that 
periodical.  Nothing  but  the  fond  blindness  of  paternity  could  ex- 


20  HARWOOD. 

cuse  any  editor  for  printing  such  astounding  trash.  And  this 
prolific  gentleman  is  the  writer  of  the  polite  note  that  accompanied 
my  returned  manuscript,  and  that  contained  the  complaint  about 
postage  stamps !  Yet,  Fidler  &  Brothers  have  reproduced  these 
inane  narratives,  which,  being  capsuled,  I  place  in  the  first  class — 
as  those  I  have  read.  "  Biddy's  Mistress  "  was  the  last,  and  my  re- 
sentment is  still  aglow  against  it. 

Now,  I  argued,  if  Fidler  &  Brothers  can  print  and  find  circula- 
tion for  "Biddy's  Mistress,"  what  may  they  not  do  with  "Har- 
wood?" 

The  other  three  reasons  may  be  taken  together :  Messrs.  Fidler 
&  Brothers  also  print  three  periodicals  of  their  own,  and  I  think 
they  give  serials  in  all  of  them ;  one  of  these  has  a  circulation  that 
is  "unprecedented."  If,  therefore,  they  should  appreciate  my 
work,  and  present  it  first — serially — in  the  unprecedentedly  cir- 
culating medium ;  and  secondly,  using  the  same  type,  print  it  in 
book  form,  I  should  be  sure  of  reaching  the  greatest  possible  num- 
ber of  readers.  It  was  not  precisely  patriotism  that  inspired  me 
to  make  the  offer  to  them ;  it  was  philanthropy.  I  wished  to  con- 
fer the  greatest  good  upon  the  greatest  number.  That  I  failed 
was  not  my  fault ;  but  it  was  the  lasting  misfortune  of  all  Fidler 
&  Brothers'  clients. 

To  recount  the  story  of  my  failure  with  this  enterprising  firm, 
let  us  begin  at  the  beginning:  I  took  my  precious  manuscript 
and  visited  their  colossal  establishment  one  day  about  noon.  I 
climbed  numberless  steps  in  a  spiral  iron  staircase,  in  search  of 
the  authority  who  controlled  the  unprecedented  periodical.  I 
found  him  occupied  with  a  mass  of  manuscripts,  and  looking  as 
cool  and  collected  as  a  blue  bottle  fly  caught  in  a  glue  pot ;  or,  if 
you  please,  in  a  mass  of  amber. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  with  a  polite  bow,  "  I  have  brought  you  a  manu- 
script." 

"  For  the  Unprecedented,  sir  P 

"  Yes,  sir 5  if  it  should  be  found  suitable;"  and  I  handed  the 
precious  packet.  He  received  it  very  graciously  and  placed  it  in  a 
pigeon  hole. 

"  I  will  have  to  trouble  you  to  call  again,  sir,  in  about  a  week," 
he  said.  "  I  have  several  manuscripts  here  that  have  precedence." 

"Before  I  go,  sir,"  said  I,  "  allow  me  to  show  you  a  note  I  have 
just  received  from  another  editor,  who  is  also  a  very  severe  critic," 
and  I  produced  iny  friend's  epistle.  "You  need  only  read  the 
first  sentence  to  see  his  estimate  of  the  work." 


THE  SECOND  ORDEAL.  21 

He  took  that  note,  which  ought  to  be  printed  in  golden  letters 
and  placed  in  a  gorgeous  frame,  glanced  incuriously  at  it,  and 
handed  it  back  without  comment.  I  thought  I  had  "done"  him, 
whereas  I  had  only  "  done"  Harwood. 

Let  me  explain. 

The  forty  unfortunate  gentlemen  who  were  smothered  in  boiling 
oil  by  Ali  Baba's  servant  had,  no  doubt,  an  affection  for  each 
other.  Indeed,  there -is  a  proverb  extant,  applied  to  persons  of 
their  occupation,  whi<?h  gives  them  credit  for  honourable  dealings 
among  themselves.  But  editors  are  not  troubled  with  similar 
amiable  weaknesses.  My  opinion  is,  they  would  enjoy  cutting 
each  other's  throats.  "  So,  when  I  revealed  to  the  editor  of  the  Un- 
precedented the  flattering  opinion  of  the  other,  I  might  as  well 
have  committed  "  Harwood  "  to  the  flames.  Love  me,  love  my  dog. 

Punctually,  at  the  end  of  the  week  I  climbed  the  spiral  stairs 
again.  My  editor  was  ready  for  me.  Doubtless  he  was  ready  an 
hour  after  my  first  interview. 

"  I  have  read  your  book,  sir,"  he  began,  with  the  benevolent 
smile  that  always  precedes  rejection.  "  I  found  it  very  interesting." 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  room  for  it,  then,  in  the  <  Unprecedented.' " 

"  Well,  no,"  he  said,  with  gushing  tenderness,  "  it  does  not  ex- 
actly suit." 

"  Will  you  please  favour  me  with  your  reason  f 

"  It  is  quite  readable,"  said  he,  gently,  "  but  it  is  not  quite  up 
to  the  Mark !" 

I  began  to  get  into  a  rage,  not  violent,  but  suppressed.  "  Har- 
wood "  was  rejected,  so  I  might  indulge  in  a  venomous  remark  or 
two. 

"  I  believe  you  printed  "  Biddy's  Mistress,"  not  only  in  your 
periodical  but  afterwards  in  a  book." 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  one  of  Snooks'.   We  always  print  Snooks'  stories." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,"  I  ventured  to  say,  "  I  think  my 
story  is  better  reading  than  *  Biddy's  Mistress.'  " 

"Yes,  so  do  I;  but  Snooks  has  a  reputation,  and  I  think  lie 
writes  more  in  modern  style.  Your  story  is  a  little  old  fashioned, 
but  it  is  quite  interesting." 

"  If  you  mean  by  *  old  fashioned'  that  it  does  not  contain  any 
indecent  allusions,  to  make  it  unfit  to  appear  in  any  virtuous 
household,  you  are  certainly  right." 

This  only  made  him  smile.  It  occurred  to  me,  also,  that  there 
were  several  old  fashioned  stories  that  did  not  come  under  that 
category. 


32  HARWOOD. 

"  If  you  choose  to  offer  your  manuscript  to  the  other  periodical," 
said  the  editor,  "  it  may  be  they  will  take  it." 

"Thank  you,  no !"  answered  I.  "  I  wished  to  print  it  in  your 
Unprecedented  for  the  sake  of  the  circulation  and  consequent 
notoriety.  I  am  writing  a  sequel — i  The  Lacy  Diamonds ' — and  I 
depended  a  little  upon  the  reputation  <  Harwood ?  might  gain  to 
create  a  demand  for  that.  Of  course,  I  expected  your  house  to 
print  it  in  book  form  also." 

"You  might  apply  to  them,"  said  the  editor  politely,  "but  I 
don't  think  they  would  print  it." 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  said,  as  I  rose  to  leave  him ;  "  I  could  hardly 
expect  Messrs.  Fidler  &  Brothers  to  do  so.  As  there  is  no  inter- 
national copyright,  they  get  food  for  their  types  without  expense. 
I  am  sorry  you  have  had  to  read  so  many  pages  of  defective  pen- 
manship in  vain." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  mere  matter  of  business,"  he  replied  wearily  ; 
"  while  I  am  reading  one  I  do  not  have  to  read  another." 

As  I  revolved  around  the  spiral  staircase  in  descending,  I 
thought  I  would  count  the  steps.  There  were  seventy-one.  If  he 
had  rushed  out  after  me  and  offered  me  for  "  Harwood  "  ten  dol- 
lars a  step  for  the  two  times  I  had  surmounted  them  and  the  two 
times  I  had  descended,  he  would  have  received  a  prompt  denial — 
"  Harwood "  was  no  longer  for  sale.  Twenty  eight  hundred  and 
forty  dollars  would  have  been  no  temptation. 

At  the  last  step  I  found  my  good  humour  again.  That 
wretched  man  up  stairs  has  to  sit  there  day  after  day,  reading 
manuscripts !  How  could  I  harbour  resentment  against  him  I 
And  then  he  has  to  cater  to  a  depraved  taste,  and  it  was  not  his 
fault  that "  Harwood"  did  not  reach  the  Mark.  I  wonder  if  "  Biddy's 
Mistress"  has  made  that  attainment?  Fidler  &  Brothers  have 
published,  it  and  sold  ten  thousand  copies,  no  doubt.  People  have 
bought  the  book  and  read  it,  all  over  the  country.  Heaven  forbid 
that  the  author  of  "  Harwood  "  should  ever  write  up  to  that  Mark! 


THE  TH1ED  ORDEAL.  23 

CHAPTER  V, 
THE  THIRD  ORDEAL. 

ALMOST  all  modem  novel  writers  have  fallen  into  the  perni- 
cious habit  of  printing  their  works  serially.  The  fraud  was? 
doubtless,  originally  introduced  by  magazine  proprietors,  who 
secured  a  continuance  of  subscription  by  stringing  out  a  long 
novel,  by  a  popular  author,  through  consecutive  numbers  of  their 
periodicals.  Dickens,  Bulwer,  Thackeray,  Collins  and  others  fell 
into  the  trap,  which  (in  their  cases)  was  probably  well  baited ; 
but  it  is  an  abominable  practice,  and,  so  far  as  authors  are  con- 
cerned, it  is  suicidal.  People  have  slidden  naturally  from  books 
to  magazines,  and  in  another  generation  they  will  slide  from 
magazines  to  newspapers $  and  then  the  last  refuge  of  fiction 
writers  will  be  the  New  York  Ledger  style  of  narrative,  "To  be 
continued."  All  of  the  "  deathless  "  works  of  Fielding,  Scott  and 
others,  who  lived  before  serials  were  invented,  will  be  dead  as 
several  door  nails ! 

I  must  confess,  however,  that  this  choice  bit  of  moralizing  is  an 
afterthought,  which  came  to  my  mind  at  the  end  of  the  third 
ordeal,  which  remains  to  be  recounted. 

In  addition  to  the  slight  stories  which  I  wrote  for  the  magazine 
edited  by  my  friendly  critic,  I  wrote  a  multitude  that  he  could 
not  find  room  for.  These  were  published  in  various  New  York 
periodicals,  the  best  of  them  in  Pippinville's  Hebdomadal. 

Nothing  could  be  more  satisfactory  than  the  treatment  I  re- 
ceived from  the  conductors  of  this  periodical.  Of  all  the  papers  I 
prepared  for  them  none  were  ever  rejected,  excepting  one,  and  I 
think  that  was  crowded  out,  perhaps,  by  matter  from  other  con- 
tributors. At  all  events,  my  relations  with  the  Hebdomadal  were 
always  pleasant,  and  I  felt  certain  that  I  had  the  inside  track 
there  when  I  concluded  to  offer  my  larger  bantling  to  them. 
Messrs.  Pippinville  are  very  extensive  publishers  also,  and  have 
the  reputation  of  liberality  in  their  dealings  with  authors  whom 
they  immortalize  with  their  types.  For  book  printing  my  pros- 
pects were  a  hundredfold  brighter  with  them  than  with  Messrs. 
Fidler  &  Brothers.  But  I  had  the  "  serial "  fever  still  raging, 
and  the  Hebdomadal  was  my  next  choice,  failing  the  Unprecedented. 
The  editor  was  a  graceful  writer,  whose  occasional  contributions 


24  EAEWOOD. 

I  had  always  read  with  great  pleasure,  and  it  is  quite  possible 
that  he  had  a  fairish  sort  of  opinion  of  my  offerings,  for  "which  he 
has  given  me  several  small  cheques. 

When  I  presented  myself  and  my  manuscript  to  Mr.  Bland, 
therefore,  I  felt  confident  that  I  should  find  this  last  ordeal  a  very 
smooth  one.  There  might  be  reasons,  such  as  far  extended  en- 
gagements with  other  writers,  that  would  bar  "  Harwood,"  but  I 
thought  his  merits  would  be  recognized  at  least. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Bland,'7  said  I,  as  I  entered  his  sanctum. 
"I  have  not  been  in  the  Hebdomadal  for  so  long  a  time  that  you  are 
in  danger  of  forgetting  me.  The  last  time  I  was  here  you  sur- 
prised me  by  returning  my  manuscript.'7 

"  We  are  still  rejecting  very  freely,"  answered  Mr.  Bland.  I 
don't  know  whether  he  intended  this  for  a  semi-apology,  for  a 
stopper  upon  further  offerings,  or  for  a  warning.  I  was  un- 
daunted, however,  and  I  drew  out  my  hundred  and  fifty-six 
pages. 

"  Well,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  beg  to  offer  you  a  novel " 

"  Oh,  you  will  have  to  see  Mr.  Chokemoff,"  he  answered,  hur- 
riedly 5  he  attends  to  the  publication  of  books.  You  will  find 
him " 

"Excuse  me,"  said  I,  interrupting  him.  "I  don't  want  Mr. 
Chokemoff.  I  wish  you  to  print  this  serially  in  the  Hebdomadal. 
Of  course,  Messrs.  Pippin ville  will  utilize  the  type  already  set  up, 
and  print  it  in  book  form  after  you  have  done  with  it." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  it."  answered  Mr.  Bland,  discontent- 
edly. "  I  already  have  a  serial  running,  and  have  no  space  to 
spare,  unless,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  it  should  be  for  some- 
thing particularly  attractive. " 

"Perhaps  you  can  decide  better  after  looking  at  my  manu- 
script. " 

"  Yery  well,  leave  it  with  me,  then ;  I  will  try  to  look  through 
it  in  a  day  or  two." 

A  "  day  or  two "  always  means  three  days  at  least.  I  waited 
three  days  and  called  again.  Mr.  Bland  had  not  had  time  to  ex- 
amine "  Harwood,"  but  he  opened  the  parcel  and  glanced  at  it 
with  infinite  disgust. 

"Thin  paper!"  he  muttered,  wrathfully,  "and  pale  ink!  It 
seems  to  me  that  writers  go  out  of  their  way  to  give  trouble  to 
manuscript  readers !" 

"  I  regret  the  thin  paper  very  much,"  I  said,  "  but  I  intended 
the  story  for  an  English  journal,  and  — 


TEE  THIED  ORDEAL.  25 

"  To  save  a  few  cents  postage  you  wrote  on  this  abominable 
paper!"  lie  answered,  finishing  the  sentence  for  me.  "Oh,  dear! 
it  is  in  the  form  of  a  journal!"  and  he  turned  over  a  dozen  leaves 
rapidly,  u  and  letters !  !"  and  here  his  patience  entirely  forsook 
him,  and  he  stuffed  the  thin  leaves  back  into  the  portfolio  with  a 
groan. 

•"  My  dear  sir,"  I  began,  humbly,  "  I  could  not  help  it.  The 
form  in  which  the  story  is  told — and  most  of  it  is  literally 
true " 

"  That  is  no  advantage !" 

"  Well,  the  most  natural  way  to  get  the  events  narrated  was  as 
I  have  done  it.  Indeed,  I  do  not  see  how  I  could  do  otherwise. 
If  I  could  only  persuade  you  to  read  a  little  way  into  the 
story " 

"  Leave  it  until  Saturday,  then,"  he  said,  savagely.  "  I  will 
read  it,  but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  use  it." 

I  waited  until  Monday. 

Mr.  Bland  was  quite  composed  when  I  appeared  the  next  time. 
He  had  read  enough  to  get  humanized  a  little. 

"  I  have  read  part  of  your  story,"  said  he.  "  It  is  interesting, 
but  the  title  won't  do.  You  ought  to  call  it  l  Adventures  in  the 
Southwest.7  The  name  don't  indicate  anything.  That  descrip- 
tion of  the  panther  business  is  very  readable ;  but  the  title  won't 
do." 

"  You  have  not  read  enough,  sir."  I  was  getting  mad  by  this 
time.  "  If  you  had  gone  a  little  further  you  would  have  found 
that  the  title  is  very  appropriate.  Now,  please  understand  the 
case.  I  have  no  difficulty  to  surmount  to  get  <  Harwood '  into 
type,  but  I  am  anxious  to  secure  a  large  circulation.  I  am  writ- 
ing a  sequel,  <  The  Lacy  Diamonds,'  and  if  I  can  make  '  Harwood' 
a  success  the  next  book  will  make  its  own  way.  If  you  print  it 
first  in  the  Hebdomadal,  and  afterwards  in  a  duodecimo  book " 

"  Can't  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Bland,  uit  will  have  to  be  octavo.  Could 
not  use  the  type  in  duodecimo." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  about  the  size,  but  I  do  care  about  getting 
the  Pippinville  imprint.  If  you  would  only  break  your  leg,  or 
something,  so  that  you  would  have  to  lie  about  at  home  for  a  few 
days,  you  might  get  time  to  read  the  whole  of  the  story." 

"  Leave  it  a  few  days  longer,"  he  answered,  setting  his  teeth 
with  desperate  determination,  "  and  I  will  get  through  it ;  but  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  possibly  use  it  in  the  Hebdomadal.  Perhaps 
the  house  will  publish  it,  though." 


26  HAEWOOD. 

It  is  possible  that  the  reader  has  had  some  experience  of  battle-" 
fields.  If  so,  he  will  remember  that  the  excitement  that  resembles 
trepidation  passes  away  pretty  soon  after  one  gets  positively 
under  fire.  At  first,  the  guns  make  a  great  deal  of  noise,  and  the 
chance  of  getting  hurt  appears  quite  promising,  especially  if  one 
can  see  the  fellows  that  are  shooting ;  but  in  a  short  time  one  ceases 
to  notice  the  dust  and  smoke  and  the  snappish  rattle  of  the  guns, 
and  goes  into  the  business  with  cold  blooded  ferocity.  I  began 
my  series  of  ordeals  with  becoming  modesty  and  humility ;  at  the 
end  of  the  third  and  last  I  was  bloodthirsty.  I  knew  perfectly 
well  that  the  next  interview  with  Mr.  Bland  would  be  the  crisis. 
I  postponed  it  ten  days.  He  should  not  say  I  hurried  him. 

I  aru  somewhat  discomposed  at  revealing  to  the  "  general  pub- 
lic "  so  many  of  the  secrets  of  book  making,  but  candour  is  one  of 
my  weaknesses.  It  may  be  that  some  would-be  author  will  light 
upon  these  revelations,  and,  profiting  by  my  experience,  he  may 
be  led  to  abandon  that  Sisyphus-like  occupation.  It  is  the  easiest 
thing  in  nature  to  write  a  book  ;  it  is  somewhat  more  difficult  to 
get  type,  as  these  adventures  of  mine  will  prove,  and  then  there  is 
something  still  to  be  encountered.  Critics  ?  Bah  !  who  cares  for 
critics  ?  If  any  would-be  author  dreads  them,  let  him  try  himself 
to  cut  up  some  other  author.  He  will  soon  find  what  a  harmless 
sort  of  amusement  it  is!  But,  rash  man,  know  there  is  the 
PUBLIC  !  Ah,  there  is  the  only  ordeal  to  be  dreaded !  You  may 
get  some  kind  friend  (like  the  present  writer,  for  example)  to  give 
you  a  word  of  encouragement  $  you  may  get  through  Tidier  & 
Brothers  and  Pippinville  and  Co.,  but  beware  of  that  hydra- 
headed  monster — The  Public ! 


CHAPTEE  VI. 
THE  THIRD  OEDEAL  CONCLUDED. 

AT  the  expiration  of  the  ten  days  I  found  Mr.  Bland  in  his 
cosy  sanctum.     He  was  waiting  for  me  and  his  mind  was 
made  up.    But  being  a  good  natured  man  he  intended  to  let  ine 
down  gently. 

"  I  have  read  your  manuscript/'  he  began,  "  and  found  it  in- 
teresting.'7 


THE  THIED  ORDEAL  CONCLUDED.  27 

"  In  spite  of  the  journal  and  letters " 

"  Yes.  Those  are  certainly  faults,  but  not  fatal  faults.  It 
would  have  been  far  better  to  have  told  the  story  in  the  third 
person,  instead  of  the  first.  But  there  are  more  serious  objec- 
tions." 

"What  are  they  P 

"  Well,  it  is  an  American  novel.  Nobody  wants  an  American 
novel.  I  hardly  know  how  an  American  novel  could  be  made  a 
success."' 

"I  believe  you  have  printed  two  or  three  in  the  Hebdomadal, 
and  issued  them  afterwards  as  books,  and  you  have  had  a  good 
sale  for  them.  Indeed,  I  have  been  told  that  the  author  had 
obtained  a  very  handsome  price  from  another  publisher  for  her 
last  copyright."  This  was  intended  for  a  shot  ^between  the  eyes. 
I  knew  there  must  be  more  or  less  soreness  on  that  subject,  as 
there  is  more  or  less  rivalry  between  publishers. 

"  We  did  print  the  books  you  refer  to,"  said  Mr.  Bland,  "  but 
there  was  something  in  them.  I  mean  in  Quantity.  Now,  yours 
Why,  there's  nothing  of  it !" 

u  One  hundred  and  fifty- six  pages " 

"  Equal  to  less  than  a  hundred  of  print !  Have  you  counted 
the  words  V 

"  Yes.  There  are  between  four  and  five  hundred  words  on  a 
page." 

"  Well.  The  Hebdomadal  has  seventeen  hundred  nearly.  If  I 
were  to  print  "  Harwood  "  serially  it  would  run  through  about 
three  months  and  then  it  would  make  an  octavo  of  eighty  pages. 
There's  nothing  of  it !  I  tell  you  there's  nothing  of  it !" 

"  I  might  enlarge  it  somewhat,"  said  J,  rather  disconcerted. 
"  There  is  hardly  any  descriptive  writing  in  it n 

"  No  use.  It  is  too  old-fashioned.  And  then  the  date  !" — and 
he  pulled  "  Harwood  "  out  of  his  pigeon  hole  and  viciously  tore 
him  open — ll  Eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-six !  Do  you  know 
that  was  nearly  forty  years  ago  I  Why,  nobody  was  born  at  that 
era!  You  might  as  well  have  laid  the  scene  on  Mount  Ararat 
and  described  the  landing  of  Noah  and  his  family.  Oh,  the  date 
is  totally  out  of  the  question." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  think  I  have  mentioned  before  that  the  sequel 
— i  The  Lacy  Diamonds J — 

"  Oh,  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  sequel.  The  date  must 
be  obliterated.  You  need  not  have  any  date.  What  in  the  world 


28  EARWOOD. 

do  you  want  with  a  date  f  Nobody  cares  about  dates — that  is, 
nobody  is  going  to  grope  in  the  darkness  of  remote  antiquity  when 
lie  is  reading  a  novel.  Scratch  out  all  the  years,  and  leave  the 
months  only." 

"  Well,  that  might  be  done,  I  suppose.  Perhaps  you  are  right. 
Anyhow,  I  perceive  the  Hebdomadal  rejects  the  story.  Give  me 
the  manuscript." 

"  There's  Mr.  Chokemoff.  You  might  try  him.  The  story  is 
interesting.  I  read  a  hundred  and  forty  pages  and  then  turned 
over  to  see  how  it  ended.  But  there's  nothing  of  it!  They  might 
perhaps  print  it  and  give  you  a  copyright,  if  you  could  make  it 
three  or  four  times  as  big.  I  don't  see  how  you  could  enlarge  it, 
though.  Look  at  this !"  and  he  snatched  a  book  from  a  shelf, 
"  here  is  one  of  those  novels  you  spoke  of — there  are  four  hundred 
pages  of  over  eight  hundred  words !  Three  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  words !  Now,  there  is  something  of  that !" 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  have  not  read  it.  In  fact,  I  did 
not  try.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Bland." 

My  portfolio  felt  very  lank  and  light  as  I  turned  my  back  upon 
Pippin ville's  establishment.  I  saw  great  rows  of  fat  books? 
quartos  and  octavos,  and  wondered  how  the  writers  had  ever  got 
BO  many  words  together.  Do  words  roll  out  of  successful  writers 
as  water  bubbles  up  from  a  spring  ?  I  saw  "  Trench  on  Words," 
and  had  half  a  mind  to  buy  it.  I  knew  a  man  in  New  York  who 
could  talk  straight  on  for  seven  years  without  fatigue,  and  without 
saying  anything.  I  thought  of  getting  him  shut  up  somewhere 
with  a  stenographer,  and  so  making  the  requisite  number  of  pages. 
Words!  I  had  been  under  the  delusion  that  Ideas  were  the  im- 
portant things. 

But  the  objections  to  "  Harwood "  looked  formidable  as  I  re- 
flected iipon  them.  "  Old-fashioned  and  out  of  date !"  If  this  is 
well  taken  then  Ivanhoe  and  The  Talisman  come  under  the  same 
condemnation.  Perhaps  these  critics  referred  rather  to  the  style 
than  to  the  matter  ?  And  here  "  Harwood  "  is  possibly  faulty.  I 
endeavoured  to  write  plain,  simple  English,  and  modern  light 
literature  is  often  made  up  of  dictionaries  and  encyclopedias. 
"  Journal  and  letters !"  Well,  "  Eob  Roy  "  is  all  made  up  of  letters, 
and  "  Redgauntlet"  is  largely  so  composed,  and  these  books  have 
been  tolerably  successful.  As  for  the  journalistic  form,  Wilkie 
Collins  has  managed  to  invest  it  with  considerable  interest  in 
"  The  Woman  in  White."  The  "  Date !"  Mr.  Bland  was  parti- 


THE  THIRD  ORDEAL  CONCLUDED.  29 

cularly  savage  in  his  assault  upon  the  date.  But  I  happened  to 
remember  a  book,  entitled  "Waverley;  or,  'Tis  Sixty  Years  Since." 
If  Sir  Walter  could  go  back  sixty  years  I  might  venture  on  forty. 

Supposing  these  disposed  of,  there  remains  the  unanswerable 
"  Nothing  of  it !"  Poor,  little  "  Harwood !"  After  my  long  incu- 
bation have  I  really  only  hatched  out  a  mouse  ?  Is  it  only  on  a 
par  with  one  of  those  pious  Sunday-school  books,  whose  heroine 
gets  to  heaven  by  having  a  drunken  father,  and  a  mother  dying 
of  consumption'?  One  hundred  and  fifty-six  pages !  Do  you  call 
that  nothing  ?  And  besides,  the  story  is  all  told,  be  it  long  or 
short.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  time  to  stop  writing  is  when  you 
have  completed  your  story.  Something  must  be  done,  however, 
to  enlarge  my  book,  and  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  could  get 
valuable  suggestions  from  Mr.  Yampyre. 

I  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Yampyre  some  years  ago  in  this 
wise.  I  had  been  writing  a  series  of  articles  for  the  New  York 
Blazer  and  found  it  necessary  to  read  proofs.  To  do  this  I  was 
obliged  to  climb  to  the  fifth  story  of  the  Blazer  building  about 
twice  a  week.  The  proofs  were  always  brought  to  me  in  Mr. 
Yampyre's  office — a  little  apartment  with  one  window  opening  on 
the  street — and  I  usually  made  my  corrections  at  his  desk.  He 
was  introduced  to  me  as  "  the  book  editor,"  and  he  was  and  is  the 
most  curiously  amiable  man  that  I  know.  Six  feet  in  his  stock- 
ings, or  out  of  them,  weighing  about  two  hundred,  bearded  like 
the  pard,  he  is  as  gentle  as  an  infant,  and  seemingly  incapable  of 
anger.  Yet  his  "  Book  Notices  "  are  perfectly  terrific.  The  Blazer 
has  only  one  mission  among  books,  and  that  is  to  exterminate 
them.  We  became  rather  intimate  while  I  was  making  my  series 
(though  since  these  were  finished  I  had  not  seen  him  for  two  or 
three  years),  and  he  would  sometimes  read  passages  from  Ms 
proofs.  The  contrast  between  his  jolly  good  nature  and  the  blood- 
thirsty .stuff  he  wrote  was  positively  ludicrous. 

I  found  him  at  his  desk  on  the  last  day  of  my  third  ordeal,  and 
he  brought  the  ordeal  to  its  conclusion. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  that  parcel  under  your  arm  P  he  asked, 
after  we  exchanged  greetings. 

"  It  is  a  manuscript.'7 

"  Too  big  for  the  Blazer  /"  he  said  j  "  what  is  it  P 

"  A  novel !  And  I  give  you  fair  warning  that  I  am  not  going 
to  stand  any  of  your  slashing.  You  must  speak  well  of  it  when 
it  appears." 


30  HARWOOD. 

"  Oan't  do  it,  my  boy  !  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  this  shop  don't 
deal  in  i  soft  sawder  P  If  you  dare  to  print  that  lot  of  stuff,  I'll 
certainly  skin  it  !" 

"  Have  you  no  bowels  of  compassion " 

"  Not  a  bowel !  But  I  can  probably  slash  it  in  such  a  fashion 
as  to  attract  attention  to  it,  and  that  will  make  it  sell.  This  is  all 
you  will  care  about,  you  know.  Are  you  going  to  print  it  anony- 
mously f 

"  Certainly.  But  I'm  in  a  quandary,  and  have  climbed  up  your 
horrid  staircase  to  ask  you  for  help." 

"  What  is  the  trouble  ?  I  am  quite  ready  to  help  you  in  any 
way  in  my  power,  except  by  partial  criticism.  That  is  not  in  my 
line."  Here  a  pallor  overspread  his  handsome  face,  and  he  faltered 
out,  "  You  won't  want  me  to  read  your  manuscript  *P 

"  Not  a  word ;  never  fear.  But  the  trouble  is  that  there's  no- 
thing of  it!" 

"  Is  that  all !  My  dear  fellow,  that  is  precisely  the  trouble  with 
all  the  books  I  review.  I  got  through  *  The  Double  Parricide ' 
last  week.  It  contained  five  hundred  pages,  and  there  was  no- 
thing of  it,  I  assure  you,  especially  after  I  had  done  with  it !" 

"  My  novel  is  nothing  like  *  The  Double  Parricide,'  Mr.  Yampyre. 
It  is  a  very  sensible  story,  and  the  only  serious  defect  is  want  of 
bulk.  It  won't  make  enough  pages  of  print !" 

"Well,  why  can't  you  keep'on  writing  until  you  get  it  long 
enough  f 

"  Because  it  is  finished.  How  can  I  'keep  on '  when  my  charac- 
ters are  all  dead — or  married,  which  is  about  as  bad  f  One  can't 
keep  up  interest  beyond  the  denouement." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Mr.  Yampyre,  reflectively.  "  How  many 
words  have  you  ?" 

"  Seventy-five  thousand." 

"  Great  Methuselah  !    How  many  do  you  lack  ?" 

"  Seventy -five  thousand." 

Mr.  Yampyre  whistled  softly,  and  meditated.  He  is  a  man  of 
unlimited  expedients,  and  I  knew  I  should  get  some  practical  sug- 
gestion from  him  if  I  waited.  His  life  was  spent  among  books, 
and  he  would  certainly  know  what  was  best  to  be  done.  He 
opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  got  out  two  cigars  and  a  match.  We 
smoked  five  or  ten  minutes,  while  he  looked  over  the  pages  of  my 
manuscript.  At  last  he  closed  the  portfolio  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Will  you  leave  this  bundle  of  stuff  with  me  until  to-morrow  F 


EUREKA  !  31 

«  Certainly." 

u  Well,  come  up  again  to-morrow.  I  have  an  idea !  In  fact  I 
have  two  ideas.  But  I  must  get  through  this  proof  now  for  to- 
morrow's paper.  Keep  a  good  heart.  I  see  the  way  out  of  your 
trouble !" 


CHAPTER  YII. 
EUREKA ! 

THE  misgivings  that  had  preyed  upon  my  mind  in  the  interval 
between  my  two  interviews  with  my  friend  Yampyre  were  all 
dispelled  by  his  cheerful  greeting  on  the  second  morning.  He  was 
seated  at  his  desk.  There  was  in  his  tout  ensemble  that  air  of  con- 
scious power  belonging  to  men  weighing  two  hundred  pounds 
avoirdupois  and  adorned  with  a  big  beard.  He  had  an  enormous 
roll  of  manuscript  before  him  from  which  he  appeared  to  be  mak- 
ing selections,  as  he  was  busily  taking  a  pile  of  sheets  from  the 
general  mass  and  smoothing  them  out  in  a  separate  parcel. 

"  Now,  my  friend,"  he  began,  "  sit  down  here,  and  heed  my  major 
proposition.  If  I  understood  you  yesterday,  your  trouble  is  want 
of  bulk?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  main  difficulty." 

il  You  have  no  doubt  about  the  quality  of  the  stuff  you  have 
scratched  down  here  in  these  hundred  and  fifty-six  pages  ?  By- 
the-bye,  you  write  an  atrocious  hand !  Do  you  know  that  the 
printers  get  paid  by  the  quantity  of  matter  they  set  up  ?  Well, 
every  minute  that  you  compel  a  printer  to  waste  in  deciphering 
your  abominable  hieroglyphics  is  so  much  of  a  fraud.  There  is  no 
excuse  for  it  in  your  case,  because  your  manuscript  is  really  legible 
in  spots !" 

UI  did  my  best,  Yampyre.  The  Blazer  printers  used  to  say  my 
copy  Avas  good." 

"  They  lied,  then.  But  to  my  question.  Does  the  matter  suit 
you,  as  far  as  it  goes  P 

"  Yes.    Yery  good  judges  have  complimented " 

u  Pooh !  Don't  be  misled  by  praises.  Wait  until  I  get  my  knife 
at  work  on  you !  I  have  made  a  memorandum  of  a  dozen  passages 
I  intend  to  skin  when  it  gets  to  piint !  Ha !  ha !  Listen  to  this : 


32  EARWOOD. 

<As  the  red  gleam  of  the  lightning  illuminated  the  plain  Lord 
Fitzgerald  spurred  his  steed  in  his  mad  career.  He  held  the  bridle 
in  his  teeth,  and  with  petronel  in  one  hand  and  sword  in  the 
other ' " 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  reading,  Yampyre  V9  said  I,  aghast, 
"  there  is  no  such  passage  as  that  in  my  book  !" 

"Not  yet,  my  boy,  but  there  will  be!  Now  just  lay  aside  your 
vanity  and  listen  to  what  I  propose.  This  manuscript,"  and  he 
laid  his  hand  impressively  upon  the  roll,  "was  sent  to  me  by  a 
schoolmate  of  mine.  Poor  Tom !  he  was  always  a  little  shaky  in 
his  upper  story,  and  now  all  of  his  lunacy  has  been  collected  in 
this  mass  of  precious  stuff!  He  writes  me  to  '  read  it,  and  to  do 
what  I  please  with  it.'  Well,  now  I  can  serve  two  friends  at  once. 
You  can  take  as  many  pages  of  this  as  you  need,  and  incorporate 
them  in  your  immortal  work — what  d'ye  call  it  ?  Oh !  yes— "Har- 
wood."  You  can  change  the  names,  you  know,  and  as  many  sheets 
as  you  take  will  reduce  the  lot  that  I  have  to  burn !  For  my 
friendship  for  Tom  demands  the  bonfire!  Just  think  of  it!  six 
hundred  and  odd  pages,  of  five  hundred  words  each  !  and  all  of  it 
very  similar  to  the  passage  I  read  to  you.  I  ask  you,  on  your  con- 
science, can  I  do  less  than  burn  them  F 

"All,  except  what  you  have  selected  for  me,"  I  answered,  with 
suppressed  rage.  "  You  think  I  can  make  up  the  required  bulk 
with  such  matter  as  you  read  F 

"  Exactly !  I  have  picked  out  the  most  stirring  passages,  and 
I  think  you  might  send  Tom  a  cheque  for  a  moderate  sum  if  you 
use  his  stuff.  Don't  say  anything  uncomplimentary  though,  for  he 
is  as  short  tempered  as  the  Double  Parricide  man.  But  I  have  not 
told  you  about  him  F 

"No." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  know  the  story.  Probably  you  can  utilize 
that  also.  He  came  up  here  two  hours  ago,  and  Was  completely 
out  of  breath  when  he  came  in.  I  gave  him  the  chair  you  occupy, 
and  he  sat  there  and  fanned  himself  with  his  hat  about  fifteen 
minutes/while  his  lungs  resumed  their  normal  action.  He  is  a  lit- 
tle fellow,  about  your  size,  though  scarcely  so  heavy,  but  as  plucky 
as  a  dog." 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Vampyre  F  he  said  at  length. 

"  At  your  service,  sir." 

"  Did  you  write  the  review  of  the  '  Double  Parricide '  in  last 
week's  Blazer  ?" 


EUREKA  f  33 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,"  lie  said,  rising,  and  stretching  himself  out  as  long 
as  he  could.  "  I  ain  the  author  of  that  work!" 

"Ah,  indeed,"  I  answered  politely,  "resume  your  seat,  sir.  I 
am  glad  to  meet  you." 

"  And  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  sir !  I  have  climbed  up  these  in- 
fernal steps  of  yours  to  tell  you  my  opinion  of  you." 

"  Quite  unnecessary,  my  dear  sir.  I  dealt  as  lightly  with  your 
work  as  possible.  There  were  many  things  I  intended  to  say 
about  it,  but  want  of  space  forbade.  For  instance,  the  title  is 
absurd !" 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir  P 

"  Why  no  man  can  be  a  double  parricide  unless  he  is  a  double 
fellow,  like  the  Siamese  twins.  How  the  deuce  can  a  fellow  kill  his 
father  twice  P 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  his  answer  was.  He  talks  two  or 
three  languages,  and  being  very  much  excited,  he  went  from  Eng- 
lish to  French  and  from  French  to  German,  and  he  cursed  me 
roundly  in  all  three.  At  last,  the  little  whelp  made  a  dive  at  me. 
I  think  he  intended  to  elongate  my  nose.  I  caught  his  arm,  then 
took  him  by  the  waistband  and  dropped  him  out  the  window." 

"  Yampyre ! " 

"  Oh,  it  did  not  hurt  him  much.  He  fell  on  a  wheelbarrow  and 
knocked  it  into  splinters.  The  owner  of  the  wheelbarrow  made 
no  allowance  for  the  altitude  from  which  the  author  had  descend- 
ed, but  collared  him  incontinently,  as  he  rose  from  among  the  frag- 
ments. There  was  a  crowd  in  a  minute,  and  some  policemen  came 
up  and  took  them  all  off." 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  believe  that,  Yampyre  P 

"  ^N"o.  But  I  do  expect  your  readers  to  believe  it,  if  you  present 
it  properly.  But  that  was  my  second  plan.  What  do  you  say  to 
my  first  P 

"I  have  to  decline.  I  can't  make  Lord  Fitzgerald  assimilate 
with  '  Harwood.' " 

"  Well.  It  would  save  a  good  lot  of  writing.  I  thought  you 
would  probably  decline,  for  all  authors  think  their  own  produc- 
tions better  than  any  other's.  You  could  easily  mix  in  these  scenes. 
Why,  Tom  has  a  real  earthquake  in  this  selection.  Listen? 
<As  the  roar  of  the  tempest  increased,  Lord  Fitzgerald  was  startled 
to  feel  the  solid  rock,  upon  which  he  stood,  vibrating  in  the  throes 

of  an  earthquake ' " 

3 


34  HARWOOD. 

"  My  dear  Vampyre,  such  a  shocking  affair  would  knock  the  life 
out  of  i  Harwood  F  I  must  positively  decline.  Let  me  hear  your 
second  plan." 

"  It  is  very  simple.  How  many  people  have  seen  your  manu- 
script I  I  infer  that  you  have  been  the  round  of  the  publishers, 
or  you  would  not  have  discovered  your  attenuated  condition." 

In  answer  to  this  question,  I  told  Mr.  Vampyre  all  that  I  have 
told  the  reader  in  the  first  five  chapters.  When  my  narrative 
was  finished,  Mr.  Vampyre,  who  seemed  to  enjoy  the  story  amaz- 
ingly, clapped  me  on  the  back  triumphantly. 

"  Go  in  and  win,  my  boy !  Write  down  all  you  have  told  me, 
word  for  word,  and  let  it  be  the  introduction  to  Harwood.  You 
will  accomplish  two  or  three  things  at  once. 

"  First,  you  will  get  that  muck  matter  in  addition,  and  make 
your  bulk  sufficient.  Second,  you  will  hide  the  objectionable  jour- 
nalistic form,  which  your  readers  will  know  nothing  about  until 
they  have  gotten  so  far  into  your  story  that  they  will  have  to  go 
on.  And  third,  you  will  be  giving  the  public  some  true  matter  to 
leaven  the  lump  of  fiction  you  have  written." 

"  Shall  I  include  my  interviews  with  you  ?" 

"  By  all  means.  If  you  put  in  the  Double  Parricide  and  tell  about 
the  wheelbarrow  catastrophe}  you  had  better  say  my  sanctum 
is  on  the  tenth  floor !" 

"  That  wheelbarrow  story  is  a  little  too  strong,  Vampyre,  to 
mingle  with  my  more  modest  fiction." 

"  See  there  now !"  answered  Vampyre,  "  the  wheelbarrow  story  is 
founded  on  fact.  I  actually  knew  a  Hibernian  labourer  to  fall  from 
a  scaffolding  as  high  as  this  window,  and  to  escape  with  a  few 
bruises.  He  fell  on  a  wheelbarrow,  which  was  totally  wrecked. 
I  am  not  like  you  fellows,  who  weave  impossible  plots.  There  is 
an  air  of  vraisemblance  about  my  yarns  which  you  won't  find  in 
your  hundred  and  fifty-six  pages." 

"  Did  you  read  any  of  my  manuscript  P 

"  Ye-es !    Oh,  certainly !" 

"  How  much  ?    Tell  the  truth." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  I  read  the  title,  and  then  turned  over  until  I 
came  to  the  end  of  the  journal " 

"  Which  is  the  end  of  the  book  !" 

"  Exactly.  I  read  the  last  page,  every  word.  You'll  do !"  he 
continued,  encouragingly.  "  I  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  con- 
clusion !" 


EUREKA  ! 


35 


The  more  I  reflected  upon  Yampyre's  plan  the  more  it  pleased 
me.  I  could  not  make  matter  to  stick  about  in  odd  places.  The 
story  was  told,  and  I  feared  to  mar  its  fair  proportions.  In  my 
young  days,  I  remember  that  great  statesmen  in  legislative  halls 
were  sometimes  put  up  to  speak  "  against  time."  I,  imitating 
their  worthy  example,  have  been  writing  against  space. 

Oh,  injured  reader,  I  have  thus  led  thee  along  through  the 
foregoing  pages,  pretending  to  have  an  entertaining  story  to  re- 
late, when  I  was  all  the  time  slyly  countings-he  new  pages,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  so  much  added  bulk.  No  longer  will 
I  pursue  these  devious  ways.  I  am  sick  of  the  constructive  deceit1 
I  have  been  practicing,  the  more  especially  as  the  end  is  accom- 
plished which  I  had  in  view  when  I  began  it.  Accept  my  repent- 
ance, gentle  reader,  and  begin  the  real  story  on  the  next  page,  with 
unruffled  composure.  Sincerely  do  I  hope  that  thou  wilt  enjoy 
the  reading  as  much  as  I  have  enjoyed  the  writing. 


AUTHOR  AND  PUBLISHER. 


I 


36  EAEWOOD. 


CHAPTEE  Yin. 

HERBERT'S   JOURNAL. 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS. 

BATON  BOUGE,  LOUISIANA,  May  1, 1836. 

PBOMISED  my  dear  Mother  that  I  would  keep  a  journal  regu- 
larly and  systematically  j  and  though  I  have  allowed  a  week  to 
slip  away  since  I  arrived  here,  it  is  not  too  late  to  begin.  I  hardly 
know  what  to  set  down  for  my  "  first  impressions  "  of  Louisiana 
life  and  manners  ;  but  I  want  this  diary  to  be  as  true  and  faithful 
a  transcript  of  my  real  feelings,  and  as  literal  a  history  of  my 
sayings  and  doings,  as  I  can  make  it.  As  it  will  always  be  in  my 
power  to  destroy  the  record,  I  need  not  hesitate  about  writing 
with  perfect  freedom.  I  may  remark  one  thing  at  the  beginning, 
which  is,  that  one  week's  sojourn  here  has  sufficed  to  make  a  man 
of  me.  I  can  imagine  myself  twenty-nine  instead  of  nineteen.  As 
to-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  I  will  have  more  time  and  a  better 
opportunity  for  journalizing,  and  will  therefore  postpone  the  regu- 
lar beginning  of  my  short  story  until  then. 

SUNDAY,  May  2,  1836. 

Just  a  month  ago — that  is,  on  the  first  of  April — I  was  at  work 
at  my  desk  in  the  counting-room  of  Jalap  &  Julap,  whole- 
sale Druggists,  of  Baltimore.  I  had  had  a  small  fight  with  Mr. 
Julap,  the  junior  partner,  who  pretended  to  know  more  about 
book-keeping  than  I  did,  and  who  consequently  undertook  to  cor- 
rect some  entries  I  had  made.  It  is  worth  while  to  notice  here  that 
the  quarrel  began  by  Mr.  Julap's  translation  of  a  French  label;  or, 
rather,  of  a  French  phrase  on  an  English  label.  It  was  on  a  bottle 
of  English  perfumery,  and  was  the  well  known  motto  on  the  English 
Arms :  "Honi  soit  qui  mat  y  pense."  I  had  remarked  that  the  first 
word  ought  to  be  written  "  Honni,"  when  Mr.  Julap  replied  that 
"  Tumi  was  the  French  for  honey,  and  there  was  honey  in  the  perfume- 
ry, no  doubt."  I  was  silly  enough  to  endeavour  to  set  him  right,  be- 
fore two  or  three  grinning  clerks,  and  then  he  fell  to  abusing  me  for 
bad  book  keeping,  because  I  had  proved  him  guilty  of  bad  French. 
He  knew  about  as  much  of  one  as  of  the  other,  so  of  course  he 
made  an  ass  of  himself.  Mr.  Jalap  was  in  New  York,  so  he  was 
fuller  of  authority  than  usual,  and  I  could  not  forget  that  I  was 


HERBERT'S  JOURNAL.  37 

always  above  him  at  sehool,  though  he  was  six  years  my  senior. 
The  quarrel  would  have  become  serious  if  we  had  not  been  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  a  stranger,  and  I  resumed  my  work,  in- 
tending to  renew  the  contest  at  the  earliest  opportunity.  The 
new  comer  announced  himself  as  Mr.  Bayard,  of  Louisiana,  and 
I  soon  became  deeply  interested  in  him  and  in  his  discourse.  He 
had  that  free,  off-hand  manner  for  which  Western  and  Southern 
men  are  distinguished,  and  he  came  from  a  State  that  has  always 
figured  in  my  dreams  as  El  Dorado. 

"  I  am  looking,'7  said  he,  after  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  "for 
a  young  man  who  understands  book-keeping,  and  who  has  some 
knowledge  of  drugs  and  chemicals,  to  take  charge  of  a  store  I  am 
about  to  open  in  Baton  Rouge.  Can  you,  sir,  assist  me  in  the 
search  P 

Before  Mr.  Julap  had  time  to  reply  I  had  slid  down  from  my 
stool,  and,  approaching  the  stranger,  stammered  out,  "  I  will  go 
with  you,  sir  !" 

"And  who  are  you  P  he  asked,  half  surprised  and  half  amused. 

"  Herbert  Harwood,  sir." 

"  And  what  does  this  gentleman  say  P  glancing  at  Mr.  Julap. 

"  Oh,  he  has  my  consent,  sir,"  replied  Julap  with  a  sneer,  "  and 
I  can  safely  say  that  he  knows  more  about  drugs  and  books  than 
he  does  about  French." 

"  The  French  will  come  in  good  time,"  said  Mr.  Bayard,  rising 
and  taking  his  hat,  "  come  to  Barnum's  Hotel  at  six  this  after- 
noon, youngster,  and  we  will  arrange  about  terms.  I  like  your 
looks,  and  foresee  that  we  shall  get  along  famously.  Good-bye." 
He  shook  hands  with  me  with  a  kindly  smile,  nodded  to  Mr. 
Julap,  and  left. 

That  is  about  all  the  story.  Of  course  there  was  a  fuss  at 
home,  and  of  course  Mother  and  the  girls  cried,  and  I  got  a  little 
spoony  myself ; — but  here  I  am  in  Baton  Eouge,  and  as  happy  as 
a  lark. 

GARRVILLE,  LA.,  Sunday,  May  9,  1836. 

I  am  not  altogether  certain  that  it  is  proper,  or  in  accordance 
with  my  Presbyterian  training,  for  me  to  devote  Sabbath  days  to 
this  work  of  journalizing.  Hereafter  I  will  find  some  other  time, 
for  Mother's  sake ;  for  I  know  she  would  not  approve  of  a  work 
which  is  neither  of  mercy  nor  necessity.  But  I  am  just  now  so 
full  of  an  adventure  which  I  had  to-day  that  I  must  write  it 
down  to-night.  In  the  first  place,  we,  that  is,  Mr.  Bayard  and  I, 


38  HAEWOOD. 

have  moved  to  the  town  of  Carrville,  twenty  miles  lower  down  the 
river  than  Baton  Kouge,  and  he  intends  to  open  his  store  here. 
Our  goods  are  coming  round  by  sea  from  Baltimore  to  New 
Orleans,  and  they  will  not  be  at  the  latter  city  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  and  in  the  meantime  we  have  little  to  do,  except  fixing 
shelves  and  counters.  Mr.  Bayard  brought  me  here  last  Monday, 
and  left  the  same  day  for  New  Orleans.  I  expect  him  back  to- 
morrow. We  came  in  the  steamboat  "  Firefly,"  which  is  the  regu- 
lar packet  plying  between  Baton  Kouge  and  the  city.  The  "  Fire- 
fly" is  owned  and  commanded  by  a  queer  old  Frenchman  named 
Captain  Joli.  I  shall  have  some  funny  stories  to  tell  about  him, 
if  we  meet  often.  For  example:  I  was  very  much  hurried  on 
Monday,  and  wishing  to  know  exactly  how  much  time  I  had,  I 
ran  down  to  the  landing  early  in  the  morning,  and  asked  Captain 
Joli  at  what  hour  his  boat  started  I  His  reply  was — 

"  Ten  o'clock,  sare,  precise !  You  not  here  a  quarter  before  ten, 
you  be  lef ',  begar !" 

The  "Firefly"  usually  arrived  from  Baton  Eouge  a  little  before 
noon,  and  when  there  is  a  shipment  of  cotton  on  our  landing  the 
boat  remains  at  Carrville  several  hours.  This  was  the  cape  the 
other  day,  and  Captain  Joli,  leaving  the  loading  in  charge  of  his 
subordinates,  spent  an  hour  or  so  with  me.  He  found  me  poring 
over  "La  Yie  de  Washington,"  and  overheard  some  of  my 
attempts  at  French  pronunciation,  which  seemed  to  disgust  him 
considerably. 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur  Hubbard,"  said  he,  "  vil  you  pleese  say 
twenty-eight  in  French  *P 

"  Vingt-huit." 

"  C7est  bon !    Now  say  <  huit*  by  himself.77 

"  Ungweet  F  I  answered,  honestly  striving  to  imitate  him. 

"  Mille  tonnerres !  I  did  not  tell  you  to  gront  like  one  peeg! 
Unit!" 

u  Huit  /" 

u  Ah,  that  is  better.  It  is  ver7  strange  you  not  talk  good  French, 
ven  you  read  him  so  well.  Many  peoples  speak  good  French  here. 
S'pose  you  talk  much  French  every  day  with  Monsieur  Carr  ?  I 
will  give  you  lesson,  too.  Dis  time,  I  give  jonhuitj  oui,  dixliuit! 
You  mus7  not  say i  icee,J  but  oui.  Do  you  observe  ze  difference  f 7 

"  Yes,  sir.  You  are  very  kind,  Captain,  and  I  will  strive  to 
profit  by  your  lessons " 

"  Ah,  you  have  ze  small  sword  also !     Come  out  in  ze  yard,  and 


BERBER  TS  JO  URNAL.  39 

I  shall  give  you  another  lesson.  Bah  f  we  do  not  want  ze  mask. 
I  shall  not  scratch  your  face." 

"  But  I  may  scratch  yours,  Captain." 

"  I  will  take  ze  risque.    Allons  !" 

I  took  down  the  foils,  and  we  walked  out  into  the  little  enclosure 
behind  the  store.  There  is  a  large  China  tree  here,  and  under  its 
shade  the  gallant  Captain  gave  me  my  lesson.  I  have  been  a 
pretty  good  fencer  for  several  years,  and  was  a  favourite  pupil  ot 
our  old  Baltimore  instructor.  But  he  was  an  Italian,  and  there- 
fore did  not  take  to  sword  play  as  a  Frenchman  does.  Captain 
Joli  put  me  through  the  ordinary  exercise,  correcting  slight  inac- 
curacies here  and  there,  and  politely  complimenting  me  upon  my 
skill. 

"  Now,  mon  ami,"  quoth  the  Captain,  who  began  to  be  fond  of 
me,  "  regardez !  You  straddle  your  long  legs  too  much.  Yen  I 
call  fendez-vous  !  you  stretch  about  five  feet.  You  must  always 
keep  your  legs  under  you,  and  be  ready  for  retreat.  Now  strike 
my  breast,  en  carte." 

I  gave  him  the  thrust  in  straight  carte.  He  did  not  oppose  his 
blade,  but  simply  drew  his  body  back.  My  foil  did  not  reach  him 
by  several  inches.  He  then  reversed  the  proposition,  and  I 
avoided  his  thrust  in  the  same  manner.  This  was  a  grand  attain- 
ment. He  then  put  me  carefully  through  the  parades  of  prime, 
seconde  and  octave,  and  made  me  expert  in  the  serai-circular  parry. 
We  resumed  our  coats,  walked  into  the  store,  and  while  we  blew 
a  double  cloud  of  fragrant  smoke,  the  Captain  finished  his  lesson 
verbally. 

"  You  cannot  tell,  mon  ami,  when  you  may  be  required  to  do 
sword  play  in  earnest." 

"  Do  you  mean  in  a  duel,  Captain  ?" 

u  Yes  ;  all  gentlemen  have  to  fight  some  time." 

"  I  shall  never  fight  a  duel,  Captain,"  I  answered,  positively. 

"  Che  sard,  sard  /"  responded  the  Captain,  sententiously.  I 
started  as  he  uttered  the  proverb. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  that,  sir  !"  said  I,  in  astonishment. 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  villanous  motto  of  a  villanous  race.  It  means, 
*  What  will  be,  will  be/  and  was  ze  proverb  of  ze  Medicis.  I  do 
not  know  why  I  repeated  it  just  now." 

"  It  is  also  the  motto  of  a  better  race  than  the  Medici,"  I  replied. 

"  It  is  blank  fatalism!"  quoth  the  Captain,  "  and  it  is  not  true." 

"  I  understand  it  to  mean  the  same  thing  as  an  article  of  my 


40  EAEWOOD. 

creed,  sir,"  I  answered,  after  a  pause,  "  namely  :  'God  liath,  from 
all  eternity,  foreordained  whatsoever  coineth  to  pass.' " 

"  Ver'  bad  philosophy !"  replied  Captain  Joli.  "  But  to  return  to 
ze  sword  play.  Ze  sword  has  always  been  ze  weapon  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  always  will  be.  To  be  master  of  it  there  are  only  two 
or  three  principles  to  learn,  and  ze  rest  is  mere  practice.  First: 
you  must  look  into  your  adversary's  eyes,  and  learn  to  detect  each 
change  of  parade  wizout  seeing  his  blade.  Second :  you  must  feel 
his  weapon  wiz  yours,  all  ze  same  as  if  you  felt  wiz  your  hand- 
Third  :  you  must  be  content  wiz  enough  defence  to  deflect  his 
blade  from  your  body.  One  inch  from  your  person  is  just  as  good 
as  two  yards.  If  you  Tmow  you  are  covered,  you  fight  wiz  assur- 
ance. And  if  you  observe  my  rules,  and  practice  patiently,  you 
will  become  nearly  invulnerable." 

"  Suppose  two  men  meet,  Captain,  who  are  equally  skilful — if 
your  theory  is  true,  neither  will  gain  an  advantage." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  not  a  supposable  case.  But  if  it  were,  one  man 
would  get  excited,  and  poof !  ze  other  plug  him !"  The  Captain 
reflected  a  few  minutes,  and  continued,  "  I  have  had  four  expe- 
rience—ze  first  time  I  got  a  coup  in  my  arm ;  it  hurt  like  ze  diable !" 

"  And  the  other  times,  Captain  f 

"  Eh,  bien !  I  am  here !"  The  Captain  rose  and  took  his  hat. 
"  Au  revoir,  Monsieur !  Ze  next  time  we  meet  we  shall  confine  our- 
selves to  prime  and  seconded 

When  the  boat  arrived  at  this  place  the  other  day,  Mr.  Bayard 
handed  me  over  to  a  strange  gentleman,  who  was  the  only  other 
passenger  for  Carrville,  saying  he  would  go  on  to  the  "  City"  (as 
everybody  calls  New  Orleans),  and  return  in  about  a  week.  The 
stranger  was  Mr.  Charles  Carr.  I  will  try  to  describe  him  when  I 
have  more  time.  As  the  a  Firefly"  pushed  off  from  the  landing  Mr. 
Bayard  called  out,  "  Good  bye,  Herbert ;  take  care  of  yourself!" 
He  has  always  called  me  by  my  Christian  name  (which  he  pro- 
nounces "  Hubbard"),  and  as  Carr  and  I  walked  up  from  the  river, 
he  once  or  twice  addressed  me  as  "  Mr.  Hubbard."  I  remember 
that  now,  though  I  did  not  notice  it  particularly  at  the  time. 
When  we  reached  the  hotel,  Mr.  Carr  walked  up  to  the  desk  in 
the  bar-room,  and  entered  my  name  on  the  register  as  "  Mr.  Hub- 
bard, of  Baton  Kouge."  I  was  so  shy  and  foolish  that  I  did  not 
correct  the  mistake,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  add,  that  I  have  not 
corrected  it  up  to  this  hour.  I  have  been  introduced  to  fifty  peo- 
ple as  Mr.  Hubbard,  and  I  really  feel  like  crying  when  I  think 


HERBERTS  JOURNAL.  41 

how  horridly  stupid  I  will  look  when  the  truth  comes  out.  Of 
course,  I  cannot  make  everybody  understand  the  case  as  I  under- 
stand it.  It  was  awkward  to  say  to  the  first  stranger,  "  my  name 
is  Harwood — not  Hubbard ;"  because  it  looked  as  though  I  thought 
myself  of  so  much  importance  ;  and  every  time  the  introductions 
took  place  the  difficulty  increased.  I  have  not  even  told  Carr,  who 
is  a  first  rate  fellow,  and  who  would  appreciate  my  peculiar  diffi- 
culty if  I  were  to  tell  him  just  how  I  feel  about  the  affair.  I  have 
concluded  to  leave  the  whole  matter  in  the  hands  of  Providence, 
and  don't  intend  to  let  it  annoy  me  any  longer,  if  I  can  help  it. 
Mr.  Bayard  will  be  able  to  work  me  out  of  the  mess  when  he 
comes  back. 

But  all  this  is  not  the  story  I  sat  down  to  tell ;  and  I  will  scratch 
that  down  now  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  for  it  is  getting  late, 
and  I  am  tired  to  death  and  want  to  go  to  bed.  *  Well,  all  last 
week  I  was  overlooking  the  men  who  were  fixing  up  the  shelves 
in  the  store,  directing  them  as  to  the  width  and  height,  &c.,  and 
very  lazy  work  it  has  been.  Every  day  Charley  Carr  would  ride 
into  town  (he  lives  about  two  miles  off),  and  spend  two  or  three 
hours  with  me,  sometimes  fencing,  sometimes  teaching  me  some 
new  steps  in  dancing,  and  sometimes  helping  me  in  my  French. 
He  fences  like  some  Frenchman  I  have  read  about,  who  could 
make  his  sword  do  everything  but  talk.  I  never  saw  anything 
like  it,  and  I  would  give  five  dollars  to  see  him  encounter 
my  old  conceited  Italian  teacher,  Mazzi,  who  used  to  put  on  so 
many  airs  with  us  boys,  when  he  twitched  our  foils  out  of  our 
hands.  Well,  well,  well !  I  shall  never  get  to  the  adventure ;  I 
will  tell  it  right  straight,  without  any  more  circumlocution.  Yes- 
terday Carr  said : 

"  Hubbard,  will  you  join  a  small  lot  of  us  fellows  in  a  deer  hunt 
to-morrow  ?" 

"  To-morrow  will  be  Sunday,"  I  replied. 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Carr,  "  and  as  you  will  not  have  any  men 
at  work  here,  I  thought  you  could  get  off  on  that  day." 

"  But  I  have  no  horse,"  I  answered, "  and  no  gun  5  and  besides  I 
don't  like " 

a  Come,  come,  sir,  you  shall  have  Eet's  mare.  She  is  a  little 
skittish,  and  will  be  all  the  better  after  a  good  gallop  ;  I  don't 
believe  we  shall  find  any  deer,  though,  as  the  season  is  so  late; 
but  we  shall  have  a  pleasant  time,  and  you  will  see  something  of 
the  country  back  of  the  river.  I  will  send  a  boy  in  with  the 


42  HAEWOOD. 

mare  early  in  the  morning,  and  you  can  stop  at  our  house  on 
your  way  to  the  meeting  place,  and  get  Herbert's  gun  and  ac- 
coutrements. I  will  have  all  ready  for  you." 

Who  was  Eet  ?  and  who  was  Herbert  ? 

As  Carr  mounted  his  horse,  half  an  hour  later,  he  turned  to  me, 
with  a  kind  smile  in  his  great  blue  eyes,  and  said, 

"  Maybe  you  don't  like  to  spend  Sunday  in  mere  amusement ; 
if  your  conscience  is  against  the  frolic  T  won't  urge  you  to  violate 
your  principles." 

"If  you  may  do  it  why  should  not  IT"1 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  free  thinker,"  he  replied,  half  sadly  and  half  con- 
temptuously. 

I  was  a  little  provoked  as  I  noticed  the  shadow  of  a  sneer  in 
his  voice  and  manner,  and  I,  therefore,  made  no  reply.  He 
rode  off  without  further  remark,  taking  it  for  granted  that  I 
intended  to  go,  though  I  had  almost  decided  that  I  should  not. 
With  my  customary  tardiness  I  had  allowed  him  to  fall  into  the 
mistake,  intending  to  write  an  excuse  and  apology  this  morning 
when  the  boy  brought  the  horse. 

When  I  got  up  this  morning  I  looked  out  of  my  window  and 
saw  a  negro  leading  a  beautiful  black  mare  up  and  down  the 
street  before  the  door.  The  mare  was  curveting  and  capering 
about  at  a  great  rate,  and  the  man  evidently  had  his  hands  full. 
I  recognized  Carr's  servant,  Jacobus,  who  had  once  or  twice 
brought  me  messages  from  his  master,  and  as  I  watched  the  gam. 
bols  of  the  spirited  animal  he  had  in  charge,  all  my  good  resolu- 
tions vanished,  giving  place  to  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  bestride 
the  magnificent  beast.  I  dressed  hastily  ?  and  opening  the  win- 
dow, called  the  negro  to  the  sidewalk. 

"  Have  you  been  here  long,  Jacobus  ?" 

"  Jist  come,  Mars'r.  Jist  hitch  my  hoss  yonder,  and  was  gwine 
to  knock  at  your  door,  only  dis  black  varmint  would  not  be 
quiet.  Gosh  !  Mars'r,  she'll  take  you  in  a  gust  dis  day !" 

"  Did  Mr.  Carr  send  any  message  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Got  um  note  here,  sar,"  replied  Jacobus,  pulling  his  hat  off, 
and  taking  the  missive  out  of  the  lining.  I  believe  negroes  carry 
everything  in  their  hats.  I  descended  to  the  street,  and  taking 
the  note  read  as  follows  : 

"  DEAR  H. — We  are  to  start  from  Maltby's  house,  where  we 
are  to  get  breakfast.  Jacobus  will  guide  you.  Don't  ride  with 
spurs— the  mare  is  very  excitable  to-day.  Yours,  C.  C." 


HERBERTS  JOURNAL.  43 

I  had  pulled  on  a  pair  of  riding  boots,  with  spurs  screwed  into 
the  heels,  and  as  I  could  not  easily  get  them  out,  I  mentally 
promised  to  keep  my  heels  away  from  the  mare's  sides,  and 
mounted.  Jacobus  noticed  the  spurs  as  he  held  the  stirrup,  and 
exclaimed : 

"  Gosh  !  Mars'r  Hubbard,  if  you  tetch  Midnight  wid  one  of  dem 
squrs  she'll  jump  clean  outen  her  hide !" 

"  I  can't  get  the  spurs  out  of  my  boots,  Jake,'7  I  replied,  "but  I 
will  take  care  she  does  not  feel  them." 

"  Werry  well,  Mars'r — you  best  not.  You  see,  sah,  Midnight  is 
lady's  hoss,  and  ain't  'quainted  wid  squrs.  Mars'r  Herbert  rode 
her  once,  and  jist  let  his  squr  tetch  her,  and  she  flung  him  clean 
over  her  head.  Him  not  easy  flung  neither." 

"  Is  Mr.  Herbert  Mr.  Charley's  brother  F  I  asked  with  some 
curiosity. 

u  No,  sar,"  answered  Jacobus,  u  Mars'r  Herbert  is  Miss  Eet's 
brudder." 

u  And  who  is  Miss  Ret,  Jake  P 

"  Him  Mars'r  Herbert's  sister,  sar !"  replied  Jake,  innocently, 
and  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  giving  valuable  information. 

We  rode  on  in  silence  for  a  mile  or  more.  I  was  not  willing  to 
question  the  negro  too  closely  concerning  family  matters,  though 
I  was  burning  with  curiosity  to  know  who  these  new  comers  on 
the  scene  could  be.  I  have  seen  the  elder  Mr.  Carr  once  or  twice, 
and  am  inclined  to  think  that  I  should  admire  him  very  much  if 
I  knew  him  better.  He  must  have  resembled  his  son  when  he 
was  at  his  age,  though  there  is  a  great  dissimilarity  in  their  ap- 
pearance now.  Mr.  Carr  is  a  grey,  grave,  old  looking  man,  won- 
derfully courteous  and  affable,  though  seemingly  habitually  mel- 
ancholy. I  remember  that  he  expressed  a  great  deal  of  interest 
in  me,  when  Charley  introduced  me  to  him,  and  that  he  said 
something  about  the  beauty  of  Baltimore,  my  native  city.  I  sup- 
pose he  really  cared  very  little  about  me  or  my  birthplace,  and  I 
have  credited  his  apparent  interest  to  his  natural  politeness.  It  is 
a  great  thing,  certainly,  to  be  born  a  gentleman,  and  Mr.  Carr  and 
I  have  both  had  this  good  fortune. 

As  Jake  and  I  rode  on  I  noticed  the  sweet  odours  of  the  coun- 
try much  more  apparent  as  we  got  further  from  the  river.  My 
walks  have  hitherto  been  confined  to  the  bank  of  the  majestic 
stream  upon  whose  broad  bosom  I  have  travelled  for  so  many 
hundreds  of  miles.  Compared  with  the  rivers  of  my  own  State, 


44  HARWOOD. 

the  Mississippi  is  very  dull  and  uninteresting  in  appearance.  Its 
waters  seem  always  muddy,  and  its  margins  are  so  low  and  mono- 
tonous. But  one  cannot  see  the  steamers  passing  each  hour  of 
the  day,  and  hear  the  bark  of  their  high  pressure  engines  all 
through  the  night,  without  getting  a  large  conception  of  the  mag- 
nificence of  this  great  highway.  About  two  miles  from  Carrville 
our  horses  stopped  to  drink  in  the  middle  of  a  sparkling  little 
creek,  which  seemed  more  charming  to  me  from  its  contrast  to 
the  yellow  river  I  saw  every  day,  and  I  promised  myself  the 
pleasure  of  many  a  walk  hereafter  to  so  beautiful  a  locality.  My 
sable  guide  informed  me  that  this  creek  was  called  "  Manahio." 
This  is  the  name  of  Mr.  Carr's  estate,  and  I  presume  this  little 
rivulet  is  the  one  of  which  I  have  heard  my  friend  speak.  The 
name  is  Indian,  and  signifies  "  Blight  Water."  Carr  told  me  that 
the  streamlet  separated  his  father's  lands  from  another  estate, 
whose  name  he  did  not  mention,  and  we  have  projected  a  fishing 
excursion  to  some  of  the  deep  pools  of  the  Manahio,  to  come  off  in 
June  or  July. 

The  valley  through  which  the  creek  flows  appeared  to  me  like 
some  dream  of  fairyland.  I  have  never  seen,  in  my  own  colder 
home,  anything  like  the  abundant  and  gorgeous  vegetation  of 
these  southern  forests.  As  we  rode  up  the  hill,  rising  abruptly 
from  the  Avater,  I  checked  my  horse  for  a  moment  to  admire  the 
scene.  I  shall  not  try  to  describe  it — at  least,  not  now.  I  will 
only  say  th^t  I  thought  of  Buckingham's  curse — "  marriage  and 
a  life  in  the  country " — and  concluded  that  the  curse  might  fall 
upon  me,  and  that  it  would  rest  full  lightly  if  I  might  select  this 
spot  for  my  home  and  be  allowed  some  small  space  to  seek  for  my 
"  partner  in  distress."  Just  at  the  ford  there  are  three  enormous 
laurels  (Magnolia  GrandifloraJ,  their  trunks  half  hidden  by  the 
undergrowth,  there  being  no  other  tall  trees  in  their  immediate 
vicinity.  Jacobus  had  pulled  up  his  horse  behind  me,  and  observ- 
ing my  admiration  of  the  scene,  he  pointed  to  the  magnolias  and 
said — 

"  Dem  is  de  haunted  laurels,  sar  1 " 

"  Haunted !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  'Deed  dey  is,  sar ;  plenty  of  people  done  seen  de  ghossesses* 
Mars'r  seed  'em  one  time.  Him  nebber  ride  'long  dis  road  at 
night !" 

"  What  kind  of  ghossesses  are  they,  Jake  ?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  sar,"  answered  the  African,  edging  his  horse  a  little 


THE  HA  UN  TED  *  LA  UBELS.  45 

nearer  to  mine — "  it  am  purty  long  story,  but  we  got  two  mile 
good  yet  to  git  to  Mars'r  Maltby's — and  ef  you  like  to  hear 
him,  Pll  try  to  tell  him." 

But  I  am  not  going  to  repeat  Jake's  story  to-night — two  o'clock, 
by  Jupiter !  Ill  go  to  bed  now,  and  try  to  finish  this  interminable 
yarn  to-morrow.  And  in  order  to  make  the  narrative  as  coherent 
as  possible,  I  will  begin  with  the  wild  legend,  which,  I  am  ashamed 
to  say,  makes  me  feel  extremely  uncomfortable  whenever  I  think 
about  it.  So  I  will  try  to  think  about  home  till  I  fall  asleep,  and, 
maybe,  I  can  dream  about  Mother. 


I 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  HAUNTED   LAURELS. 

MONDAY,  May  10, 1836. 

FEEL  like  a  stewed  witch  this  evening,  and  no  wonder.  All  day 
I  have  been  harassed  by  the  workmen  who  are  fitting  shelves  and 
drawers  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  who  were  perpetually  wanting 
instructions,  and  Carr  has  been  here,  and  I  have  promised  to  go 
with  him  to  Manahio  to-morrow  night,  to  return  on  Wednesday 
morning  after  breakfast.  I  must  record  yesterday's  adventure, 
while  it  is  fresh  in  my  mind ;  and  I  have  provided  myself  with 
two  candles,  and  mean  to  write  while  I  can  keep  awake — so  here 
goes !  Jake's  story  is  the  first  thing  in  order,  and  may  be  entitled 
"  The  Haunted  Laurels." 
Five  years  ago  Mr.  Carr  was  parish  judge,  and  his  neighbour, 

Mr.  John  (the  negro  called  him   "Mars'r  John"  all 

through  his  tale,  and  I  forgot  to  ask  his  name),  was  State's  attor- 
ney for  this  parish.  At  that  time  there  was  an  unusual  degree 
of  excitement  throughout  all  the  eastern  parishes  of  Louisiana, 
caused  by  the  persistent  efforts  of  a  handful  of  Abolitionists  to 
induce  slaves  to  abscond,  and  it  was  said,  also,  to  incite  an  insur- 
rection. Yery  vigorous  measures  were  adopted,  some  of  which 
were  extra  legal,  and  five  or  six  men  were  arrested,  tried  and 
hung — most  of  them  under  the  authority  of  Judge  Lynch.  Among 
these  victims  there  were  two  men,  father  and  son,  who  were  ar- 
rested under  suspicious  circumstances,  at  a  plantation  in  the 
neighbourhood.  They  were  strangers,  and  no  white  man  could  be 


46  HARWOOD. 

found,  between  the  date  of  their  arrest  and  day  of  their  death, 
who  had  ever  seen  them  before.  I  could  not  get  from  Jacobus 
any  very  coherent  account  of  the  trial  of  these  Densons,  or  of  the 
testimony  upon  which  they  were  condemned.  Letters  were  found 
upon  their  persons,  written  by  a  noted  Abolitionist  who  was  tried 
at  Baton  Eouge  the  same  year,  and  who  is  now  in  the  State  pen- 
itentiary, sentenced  to  imprisonment  for  life.  This  man,  Sumner, 
who  was,  perhaps,  the  most  guilty,  who  openly  avowed  his  senti- 
ments in  the  court  room,  was  the  only  one  who  had  a  regular  trial, 
and  the  only  one  that  escaped  the  halter.  His  offence,  however 
atrocious  in  intention  and  tendency,  was  one  exactly  provided 
for  in  the  law  of  the  State,  and  the  penalty  was  life  imprisonment 
at  hard  labour.  There  is  little  doubt,  however,  that  he  would  have 
shared  the  fate  of  his  accomplices,  if  he  had  been  tried  under 
Lynch  law. 

The  Densons  were  chained  to  one  of  the  three  laurels  on  the 
bank  of  the  Manahio,  near  the  high  road,  that  they  might  be 
visible  to  all  passers  by,  whose  recognition  of  them  might  avert 
an  impending  doom.  Two  or  three  dozen  young  planters  from 
the  neighbourhood,  armed  to  the  teeth,  kept  constant  guard  over 
them,  and  precluded  the  possibility  of  escape  or  rescue.  At  the 
trial,  held  at  the  slme  spot,  each  planter  present  was  a  judge  and 
juryman,  and  the  prisoners  were  allowed  to  defend  themselves. 
Their  defence  amounted  to  little  more  than  a  plea  of  not  guilty, 
and  they  constantly  demanded  a  regular  trial  before  a  constituted 
court,  affirming  their  ability  to  prove  their  innocence,  if  suffi- 
cient time  were  allowed  them.  At  the  end  of  the  week  they  were 
both  hanged  on  one  of  the  trees  of  the  haunted  group.  Before 
the  stern  sentence  was  executed  the  elder  Denson  made  a  special 
appeal  to  Judge  Carr  and  the  State's  attorney,  as  representa- 
tives of  the  law.  He  might  as  well  have  appealed  to  a  couple 
of  tigers.  The  legend  affirms  that  Denson  then  predicted  the 
violent  death  of  these  two  gentlemen,  upon  the  same  spot,  within 
some  definite  period,  and  promised  that  both  he  and  his  son 
would  haunt  the  grove  until  this  dire  prophecy  was  fulfilled. 

One  morning,  within  the  year,  the  body  of  the  prosecuting  at- 
torney was  found  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows  tree,  dead  from  a 
pistol  shot  in  the  head.  His  own  jjistol  was  clutched  in  his  hand, 
and  the  current  belief,  at  least  amongst  the  superstitious  negroes, 
was  that  he  had  shot  himself.  Jacobus  represents  this  gentle- 
man— "Mars'r  John"— as  a  man  of  extraordinary  courage  and 


THE  HAUNTED  LAURELS.  47 

prowess.  I  recollect  his  exact  expression  at  this  part  of  the 
story.  "Mars'r  John,"  he  said,  <;  wor  not  'feard  of  two  hundred 
debbles  and  ghossesses  all  at  once ;  and  ef  he  had  fair  chance  in 
the  daylight,  he  could  make  ghos7  and  debble  bofe  run."  All  that 
was  known  about  his  death  was,  that  he  had  left  Carrville  near 
midnight  for  his  home.  His  horse  was  found  in  the  early  morn- 
ing near  his  house,  and  a  fragment  of  his  bridle  lying  near  his 
master's  body,  which  was  discovered  in  the  bushes,  by  tracking 
the  footmarks  of  the  aniinai  back  to  the  haunted  laurels.  At 
this  portion  of  the  narrative  Jacobus  was  visibly  affected,  and  I 
fancied  that  I  could  detect  a  strange  mixture  of  grief  and  horror 
in  his  tones.  He  spoke  of  the  deceased  gentleman  with  evident 
affection,  and  I  thought  he  regarded  his  mysterious  death  as  a 
kind  of  swindle  on  the  part  of  the  "  ghossesses."  He  said,  for  in- 
stance :  "  Mars'r  John  didn't  hab  no  fair  shake  wid  dem.  Dey 
was  'feard  to  fight  him  out  in  de  open  road,  whar  de  moon  was 
shinen ;  so  dey  tolled  him  inter  dem  bushes,  and  dar  dey  busted 
his  big  heart,  and  made  him  kill  hisself !"  There  was  something 
about  the  weird  manner  of  the  negro  that  made  me  feel  very  un- 
comfortable, in  spite  of  my  consciousness  that  the  whole  story  was 
susceptible  of  a  matter  of  fact  solution  if  one  could  only  get  at 
the  clue. 

So  far  as  Mr.  Carr  is  concerned,  the  prophecy  has  as  yet  found 
no  fulfilment.  The  narrator  did  not  say  much  upon  this  branch 
of  the  subject.  It  seems  that  he  resigned  his  office  shortly  after 
the  execution  of  the  Deusous.  That  he  has  seen  something  un- 
canny at  the  haunted  laurels  Jake  does  not  doubt,  but  he  asserts 
most  positively  that  he  avoids  this  road  in  his  journeys  to  and 
from  townj  crossing  the  stream  at  another  ford,  a  mile  higher  up. 

He  concluded  his  story  just  as  we  reached  Mr.  Maltby's,  begging 
me  to  say  nothing  to  "ole  Mars'r  or  Mars'r  Charley"  about  the 
haunted  laurels.  "  Ef  you  ebber  git  chance,  sar,"  he  said,  as  he 
held  the  gate  open  for  my  entrance  into  Mr.  Maltby's  grounds, 
"  and  ef  you  want  to  know  more  'bout  dis  story,  you  might  ax 
Miss  Eet — kase  she  jis  like  her  fader,  and  not  'feard  ob  de  debble 
hisself!" 

A  dozen  questions  rushed  to  my  tongue,  but  Mr.  Maltby's  ap- 
pearance and  cordial  salutation  prevented  the  utterance  of  any  of 
them.  There !  I  am  heartily  glad  that  I  have  gotten  rid  of  that 
horrid  legend  for  the  present. 

I  wonder  what  Mr.  Maltby.  and  so  inanv  of  his  guests  as  were 


48  HARWOOD. 

near  me,  thought  of  my  trencher  powers  yesterday  morning  I 
The  ride  had  increased  an  appetite  that  was  vigorous  enough 
before,  and  the  coffee  was  the  first  Mocha  that  I  had  tasted  since 
I  left  my  dear  Mother's  table.  And  to  cap  the  climax,  there  was 
genuine  wheat  bread  in  abundance,  which  is  a  rarity  in  this  fair 
land.  Mrs.  Maltby  said,  as  we  rose  from  the  table,  "  You  have 
found  the  way  to  Highlands,  Mr.  Hubbard,  and  I  hope  we  shall 
see  you  very  often  hereafter."  To  which  Mr.  Maltby  added, 
"  Yes,  come  out  every  day  that  you  can  get  off,  Hubbard."  These 
Louisiana  people  are  very  kind  and  hospitable. 

Carr  handed  me  a  gun  and  accoutrements  as  I  remounted  Mid- 
night, and  renewed  his  cautions  against  the  use  of  spurs.  I  ex- 
pressed some  surprise  at  the  selection  of  so  fiery  a  beast  for  a 
lady's  horse,  especially  as  her  trot  was  none  of  the  smoothest. 

"  Why,  that  black  rascal  has  put  a  curb  bit  in  her  mouth,"  said 
Carr  ;  "  here,  Jake !  take  off  that  bridle  and  martingale,  and  put 
mine  on  the  mare.  She  travels  better  with  a  snaffle,  Hubbard, 
and  you  will  find  her  gait  pleasant  enough.  How  came  you  to 
put  the  curb  on  the  filly,  Jake  F 

"Golly!  Mars'r  Charley,"  answered  the  negro,  with  a  grin, 
"how  I  gwine  to  know  that  Mars'r  Hubbard  kin  ride  like  de 
witches  ?  She  done  flung  Mars'r  Herbert  todder  day  !" 

".Keep  your  eye  oil  her,  Hubbard,"  shouted  Carr,  as  the  mare 
glided  ahead  $  "  she  is  safe  enough  till  she  feels  the  spur." 

I  have  gotten  another  object  to  be  attained,  namely  the  posses- 
sion of  that  mare.  I  do  not  know  whether  money  will  buy  her, 
and  I  am  not  overburdened  with  that  particular  article,  if  it 
would.  But  I  mean  to  own  that  mare  some  of  these  days !  Her 
gait  is  indescribable.  To  me,  who  have  been  accustomed  to  trot- 
ting horses  all  my  life,  it  was  altogether  new.  She  appeared  to 
"devour  the  distance"  with  a  motion  so  light  and  easy  as  scarcely 
to  move  me  in  the  saddle.  These  Southerners,  who  consult  their 
ease  on  all  occasions,  think  more  of  a  horse  trained  to  "  pace " 
than  of  the  fatest  trotters  5  and  Midnight  has  been  so  carefully 
instructed  that  I  must  consider  her  matchless.  But  I  am  getting 
along  very  slowly  with  my  story. 

Mr.  Maltby  stationed  me  in  a  glade  of  the  forest,  a  mile  or  so 
from  his  house,  directing  me  to  watch  for  the  deer  whenever  I 
heard  the  cry  of  the  hounds.  "  You  can  either  dismount,"  he  said 
at  parting,  "  and  fasten  your  horse  to  a  swinging  branch,  or  you 
can  shoot  from  the  saddle  if  you  get  a  shot.  The  mare  will  stand 


THE  HAUNTED  LAURELS.  49 

fire."  So  saying  he  plunged  into  the  woods,  winding  his  horn,  and 
followed  by  all  the  yelping  hounds.  The  other  gentlemen  of  the 
party  galloped  off,  to  take  "  stands,"  as  they  call  these  openings 
in  the  woods,  similar  to  mine,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  had  lost 
sight  and  sound  of  them  all.  And  now  I  am  at  the  beginning  oi 
my  adventure,  at  last.  While  I  sit  here  in  quiet,  hearing  no  sound 
but  the  scratching  of  my  pen  over  the  paper,  I  feel  my  heart  beat- 
ing more  rapidly  and  my  body  quivering  with  excitement  as  the 
memories  of  the  few  events  I  have  to  record  come  thronging  back 
upon  me. 

After  Mr.  Maltby  disappeared  I  fastened  the  mare  to  a  sapling 
and  started  in  search  of  water.  I  had  smoked  a  heavy  cigar  after 
breakfast,  and  my  throat  was  dry  and  parched.  I  soon  found  a 
tiny  rill  issuing  from  the  bushes,  and  thinking  the  draught  would 
be  cooler  and  purer  if  I  could  find  its  source,  I  threw  my  gun  into 
the  hollow  of  my  arm,  and  pushing  aside  the  undergrowth,  I 
splashed  my  way  through,  walking  in  the  bed  of  the  rill.  As  I 
advanced,  the  passage  grew  more  and  more  difficult,  and  I  should 
have  given  up  the  attempt,  but  for  a  lamentable  obstinacy  of  dis- 
position, which  always  makes  me  persist  more  resolutely  in  an 
undertaking  when  obstacles  thicken  around  me.  My  dear,  par- 
tial Mother  speaks  of  this  trait  as  "  one  of  my  few  failings."  I 
went  on,  therefore,  getting  my  gun  entangled  in  the  overhanging 
vines,  getting  stung  in  thorny  bushes,  and  growing  more  thirsty, 
arid  more  determined  to  find  the  spring,  till  I  had  probably  got 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  my  horse.  At  last  I  emerged 
into  au  uopen"  of  small  circumference,  and  saw  the  spring,  the 
water  bubbling  over  a  bed  of  pure  white  sand,  and  looking  de- 
liciously  cool  and  tempting.  I  kneeled  down,  and  plunging  my 
face  in  the  water,  I  took  the  sweetest  drink  I  ever  had  in  my  life. 
As  I  raised  my  head  and  glanced  around  I  discovered  that  I  was 
not  alone.  On  the  other  side  of  the  spring,  half  hidden  by  the 
tree  against  which  he  was  leaning,  sat  a  man  clothed  in  buckskins. 
His  back  was  towards  me,  and  I  could  only  see  his  left  arm  and 
leg,  and  the  muzzle  of  an  old  looking  rifle  lying  across  his  thigh. 
He  sat  perfectly  motionless,  as  I  watched  him  for  some  minutes 
and  as  he  must  have  heard  my  approach,  I  wondered  why  he  did 
not  look  round  the  tree  to  see  who  I  was.  I  had  halt  a  mind  to 
slip  quietly  back  by  the  way  I  had  come,  and,  rising  to  my  feet, 
with  this  half-formed  purpose,  and  drawing  a  step  back,  I  got  a 
partial  view  of  his  head,  and  recognized  the  straight  black  hair 

4 


50  HARWOOD. 

and  copper  colored,  skin  of  an  Indian.  I  have  so  long  wished  to 
see  a  real  live  Indian  in  something  like  his  "  native  state,"  that 
curiosity  overcame  every  other  feeling  and  I  stepped  round  the 
tree  and  accosted  him. 

a  Good  morning/7  said  I,  nodding  to  him  as  cordially  as  I  could. 
He  raised  his  head  when  I  spoke  and  I  discovered  that  he  was 
tolerably  drunk.  He  had  a  junk  bottle  in  his  hand  which  he  held 
out,  offering  me  a  drink. 

"Urn!"  he  grunted,  "white  brudder  come  to  see  ole  Injin! 
White  brudder  welcome !  take  drink  !" 

"I  have  just  had  a  drink,"  I  answered,  declining  the  bottle  and 
pointing  to  the  spring — "  it  is  better  than  that  in  your  bottle." 

"  Spring  good,  whisky  better!  white  brudder  want  moccasin  f 
Come  in  wigwam."  He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  thrusting  the  bottle 
in  the  bosom  of  his  hunting  shirt,  he  moved  away  from  the  tree, 
dragging  his  rifle  after  him. 

"  I  don't  want  any  moccasins— that  is,  not  to-day  5 1  must  go  back 
to  the  stand  now."  I  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy,  and  to  remem- 
ber a  hundred  stories  I  have  read  and  heard  about  scalps,  roasting 
before  a  slow  fire,  and  similar  nonsense.  The  grisly  rascal  was  six 
feet  tall,  erect  and  vigorous,  and  looked  as  though  he  could  make 
mince  meat  of  me  in  a  twinkling.  Drunk  as  he  was,  he  walked 
without  staggering.  He  faced  me  again  and  beckoned  to  me  to 
follow  him. 

"  Nebber  mind  stand,"  he  said,  "no  deer  to-day.  Brudder  have 
some  Injin's  venison?  Injin  dry  him  himself 5  come!" 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  not  this  time ;  good  bye  !" 

"  No  whisky,  no  moccasin,  no  venison !"  said  he,  angrily  strik- 
ing the  ground  with  the  butt  of  his  gun — "  what  for  young  brud- 
der afeard  F 

I  began  to  be  angry  myself  now,  as  well  as  scared — angry  per- 
haps because  scared.  I  tried  to  look  as  fierce  as  I  wished  to  feel. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything,"  I  answered ;  I  never  drink  whis- 
ky. If  you  will  bring  me  a  pair  of  moccasins  to  town  to-morrow 
I  will  buy  them,-  and  as  for  the  venison — well,  I  will  taste  your 
venison.  How  far  off  is  your  wigwam  F 

"  Here,"  he  replied,  once  more  stalking  away  from  the  spring. 
I  followed  him  to  the  edge  of  the  opposite  thicket  until  he  arrived 
at  the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  had  been  prostrated  by  some  hurricane, 
as  was  evident  from  the  huge  mass  ot  roots  that  stood  perpendic- 
ularly eight  or  ten  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  ground.  A  quan- 


THE  HA  UNTED  LA  UEELS.  5 1 

tity  of  suckers  and  vines  with  long  trailing  branches  and  tendrils, 
sprang  from  among  the  upturned  roots,  and,  hanging  over  the 
cavity  they  had  once  occupied,  formed  a  beautiful  bower,  which 
shaded  and  concealed  the  rude  hut  beneath  them.  The  fallen  tree 
had  stood  on  a  slight  eminence  or  hillock,  and  the  hollow  which 
its  roots  had  scooped  out  was  still  a  little  higher  than  the  sur- 
rounding surface.  The  hut  was  formed  of  long  strips  of  bark, 
leaning  against  the  base  of  the  tree,  and  appeared  to  be  water- 
tight ;  the  edges  of  the  bark  neatly  sewn  together  and  covered  in 
places  with  pieces  of  deer  hide.  I  did  not  enter,  but  as  the  Indian 
pushed  aside  the  rude  door  I  saw  two  or  three  pairs  of  moccasins 
hanging  on  pegs,  and  a  bundle  of  skins  lying  in  a  corner.  At  that 
instant  my  attention  was  attracted  by  the  cry  of  the  hounds,  and 
I  was  about  to  hasten  back  to  my  stand,  when  the  Indian  reap- 
peared, with  a  piece  of  smoked  deermeat  in  his  hand. 

61  Nebber  mind  stand,"  he  said;  "  dog  no  find  deer,  'spose  him 
find  fox !"  He  listened  intently  for  a  moment  and  added,  u  him 
come  dis  way." 

I  walked  hastily  along  the  trunk  of  the  prostrate  tree,  until  I 
found  a  place  low  enou  gh  for  me  to  clamber  up,  and  cocking  both 
barrels  of  my  gun,  I  looked  anxiously  for  the  appearance  of  the 
deer  or  fox,  whichever  it  might  prove.  The  Indian  followed  me, 
still  dragging  his  rifle  after  him.  I  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the 
sounds,  for  the  furious  baying  of  the  hounds  could  now  be  heard 
distinctly,  and  they  seemed  to  be  approaching  very  rapidly. 

"  Plenty  time,"  said  my  companion,  waving  his  hand,  "  fox  run 
dis  way,  dat  way.  Dog  lose  him  bimeby.  S'pose  he  climb  tree; 
plenty  time." 

He  propped  his  gun  up  against  the  tree,  and,  drawing  a  long 
knife  from  his  belt,  proceeded  to  cut  a  strip  of  venison.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  crash  in  the  bushes  beyond  the  hut,  and  I  saw  the 
body  of  an  animal  glancing  through  them.  The  Indian  dropped 
the  meat,  stuck  his  knife  into  the  tree,  caught  up  his  rifle  and 
fired.  I  heard  a  fierce  growl,  another  crash,  and  again  saw  the 
beast  bounding  over  a  bunch  of  tangled  vines.  He  was  not  over 
twenty  yards  distant,  and  I  discharged  one  barrel  at  him  just  as 
he  leaped  into  sight.  Another  growl,  another  mighty  bound,  and 
there  he  was  before  me,  and  I  saw  the  long,  striped  body,  and 
thick  tail,  gliding  through  the  grass,  as  he  approached  me.  I  took 
good  aim,  and  gave  him  the  contents  of  the  second  barrel  as  the 
hounds — a  dozen  ot  them — came  tearing  through  the  bushes. 


52  HAEWOOD. 

They  were  upon  him  in  a  moment,  and  such  a  babel  of  growls, 
barks  and  howls,  I  never  heard  before,  and  hope  never  to  hear 
again.  I  was  watching  the  fight  as  I  reloaded  my  gun.  The  In- 
dian was  forcing  a  bullet  into  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle,  and  I  heard 
him  mutter :  "  Whisky  too  much  !  hand  shake  ;  no  shoot  f  when 
I  saw  Music,  a  favorite  slut  of  Carr's,  dash  at  the  panther,  and 
retreat  on  the  instant,  bleeding  and  howling  dismally.  Without 
a  thought,  I  snatched  the  Indian's  knife  from  the  tree,  jumped 
down  and  plunged  into  the  mel^e.  I  hardly  know  how  it  was  done, 
but  I  pushed  in  among  the  dogs,  several  of  them  badly  torn,  and 
drove  the  knife  into  the  beast's  side  up  to  the  hilt.  He  must 
have  been  already  nearly  dead,  as  we  afterwards  found  that  both 
of  my  shots  had  taken  effect — the  first  in  his  flank  and  the  other 
in  his  shoulder.  The  thrust  finished  him,  however,  and,  after  a 
convulsive  jerk  or  two,  he  rolled  over,  dead.  Just  then  I  heard 
the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs,  and  Mr.  Maltby  and  a  stranger  gal- 
loped into  the  open. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

CAPTAIN  DELANEY. 

strange  gentleman  was  a  man  to  be  looked  at.  He 
-L  seemed  to  be  about  thirty -five,  though  I  do  not  know  if  this 
estimate  of  his  age  is  within  ten  years  of  the  truth.  He  had  that 
indescribable  tout  ensemble  that  belongs  to  very  mature  young 
men.  His  eyes  were  black  arid  piercing,  his  hair  black,  and  his 
sallow  face,  closely  shaven,  showed  the  black  roots  of  his  thick 
beard,  around  his  chin  and  over  his  lip.  He  was  dressed  with 
great  nicety,  in  the  everlasting  blue  cottonade  unmentionables, 
and  a  brown  linen  frock  coat.  His  shirt  bosom  was  particularly 
white  and  smooth,  and  one  got  the  idea,  from  a  glance  at  the  man, 
that  he  would  not  rumple  or  soil  it  if  he  wore  it  a  month.  He 
wore  a  black  silk  cravat  and  no  collar,  a  broad  brimmed  Panama 
hat  and  kid  gloves.  Altogether,  he  was  too  nice  looking  for  the 
woods.  As  he  drew  up  his  horss  he  looked  steadily  at  me,  and  I 
touched  my  hat.  He  returned  my  salutation  by  removing  his  own, 
and  bowing  gracefully,  and  I  observed  that  his  hair,  which  was 
crisp  and  wavy — I  feel  inclined  to  write  it  "  ~kiriky" — was  arranged 


CAPTAIN  DELANEY.  53 

with  care,  parted  as  if  it  had  been  done  with  a  rule  and  pair  of 
compasses.  I  thoroughly  and  excessively  disliked  him  at  the  first 
glance. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here,  Hubbard?"  asked 
Mr.  Maltby,  looking  with  great  round  eyes  at  me  and  the  bloody 
knife  in  my  hand. 

"  I  believe  I  have  been  killing  a  panther,  sir,"  I  replied,  with  as 
much  modesty  as  I  could  muster. 

"  The  deuce  you  have !  where  is  he  ?"  and  he  threw  his  long  leg 
over  the  saddlebow  and  slid  down  from  his  horse.  "  Here  he  is, 
by  jingo !  shot  in  two  places,  and  stuck  to  boot !  It  was  your 
gun,  then,  that  I  heard  I  and  here  is  a  rifle  shot,  right  over  his 
ear.  Somebody  had  a  pop  at  him  before  you  ;  I  heard  the  rifle, 
but  this  only  riled  him.  Was  he  coining  at  you  ?  Where  did  you 
get  that  knife  I  Do  you  usually  carry  a  toothpick  of  that  size  T 

"It  is  the  Indian's  knife,  sir,"  said  I,  answering  one  question, 
out  of  the  volley. 

"  What  Indian  P  said  the  stranger,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 
I  looked  round  to  the  dead  tree,  where  I  had  left  my  hospitable 
friend,  but  he  was  no  longer  there ;  I  stepped  to  the  hut,  pushed 
'the  door  open  and  looked  in — but  my  "  Injun  brudder "  had  dis- 
appeared. 

"  He  is  gone,"  said  I,  returning  from  my  fruitless  search ;  "  he 
was  at  my  side  a  minute  ago,  just  as  you  came.  I  cannot  imagine 
what  has  become  of  him ;  he  was  watching  me  when  I  stuck  the 
panther  5  I  saw  his  head  over  the  tree  trunk  yonder." 

"  What  was  he  like  f '  said  the  stranger  abruptly,  speaking  in 
a  sharp,  peremptory  tone  that  was  rather  offensive.  I  thought 
he  was  not  treating  me  with  the  consideration  due  to  a  man  of  my 
age,  who  had  just  killed  a  panther.  I  was  in  no  hurry  to  answer, 
therefore,  and  putting  the  caps  on  my  gun,  I  walked  towards  Mr. 
Maltby.  I  am  nearly  six  feet  tall,  if  I  am  young,  and  it  is  not 
agreeable  to  be  spoken  to  as  if  I  vere  a  boy.  He  repeated  his 
question,  rather  more  civilly,  and  I  answered  without  looking 
round : 

"  Like  other  Indians,  I  suppose.  Mr.  Maltby,  what  am  I  to  do 
next?" 

"  Get  your  horse,  and  we  will  call  in  the  standers  ;  no  deer  to- 
day, at  least  not  in  this  drive.  I  think  we  had  better  go  home,  as 
the  dogs  are  pretty  well  used  up,  anyhow."  He  mounted  his 
horse,  and  blowing  his  horn,  the  hounds  gathered  around  him, 


54  HARWOOD. 

poor  Music  limping  painfully  along  and  whining  piteously. 
"Can's  bitch  is  badly  hurt,  I'm  afraid ;  did  the  beast  get  her 
down  P 

"No,  sir;  she  darted  into  the  fight  and  out  again  like  light- 
ning, hurt  as  you  see.  It  was  then  that  I  seized  the  knife  and 
stabbed  the  panther."  Seeing  that  he  listened  with  great  interest, 
I  went  on,  telling  him  the  story  pretty  much  as  I  have  recorded  it 
here.  When  I  had  finished,  he  said, 

"  It  was  a  plucky  thing  to  do,  youngster,  but  I  advise  you  the 
next  time  to  keep  your  distance.  If  that  fellow  had  got  a  lick  at 
you  with  his  paw  you  would  not  have  been  standing  here !  The 
Indian  must  have  been  old  Misty ;  he  lives  hereabouts.  Where 
the  dickens  has  he  gone,  I  wonder?  drunk  as  usual!  Well,  get 
your  horse  and  come  on;  we'll  ride  slowly,  and  get  the  dogs 
home." 

I  started  through  the  bushes,  but  returning  to  stick  the  knife 
back  in  the  tree,  I  heard  Maltby  say :  "  His  name  is  Hubbard — a 
friend  of  Carr's — he's  genuine  wildcat  though,  ain't  he  f  I  could 
not  hear  his  companion's  reply,  but  I  heard  Maltby  say :  "  Lying ! 
no,  no!  I'll  be  sworn  the  boy  told  the  truth."  Confound  that 
spruce  blackguard !  maybe  I'll  have  a  chance  to  pay  him  off  some 
of  these  days. 

I  lost  myself,  and  lost  much  time  in  getting  back  to  the  mare, 
and  had  to  betake  myself  to  the  rivulet  at  last,  and  very  nearly 
retrace  my  steps.  At  last  I  found  the  stand.  The  mare  was  rest- 
less, and  I  had  considerable  difficulty  in  mounting,  encumbered  as 
I  was  with  the  gun.  I  had  fastened  her  by  unbuckling  the  bridle 
rein,  and  rebuckling  it  round  the  limb  of  a  sapling.  I  at  last  got 
into  the  saddle,  and  was  trying  to  buckle  the  rein,  when  she 
stretched  out  her  neck  and  twitched  the  bridle  out  of  my  fingers. 
She  was  off  like  a  shot — right  into  the  woods ! 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  I  could  easily  have  regained  the 
rein  by  leaning  forward  in  the  saddle,  but,  as  it  was,  I  was  kept 
busy  dodging  the  overhanging  branches  and  managing  my  heavy 
gun.  Once  the  muzzle  caught  in  a  trailing  vine,  and  as  the  gun 
swung  round  I  got  a  sound  knock  on  the  side  of  my  head.  I  have 
the  mark  yet.  This  accident  confused  ine  somewhat,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  the  catastrophe  happened.  I  had  presence  of  mind 
enough  to  shake  my  feet  clear  of  the  stirrups  when  the  mare  first 
bolted,  and  thereafter  I  was  doing  regular  riding  school  practice 
— holding  on  with  my  knees.  And  while  the  sparks  were  still 


MISTEONO.  55 

flying  from  my  eyes  I  saw  a  tree  galloping  up  to  me,  and  leaning 
to  the  right  to  avoid  it,  I  accidentally  touched  Midnight  with  the 
spur.  She  swerved  suddenly  to  the  left,  the  tree  struck  me  full 
in  the  breast,  and  that  is  all  I  know  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XL 

MISTEONO. 

"II  THEN  I  recovered  my  senses  I  found  myself  alone  in  that 
VV  wilderness,  and  felt  as  I  suppose  one  feels  when  recover- 
ing from  a  mighty  "  drunk."  My  watch  crystal  was  smashed,  and 
my  timekeeper  had  stopped.  I  picked  up  my  gun  and  discharged 
both  barrels,  hoping  that  some  of  my  fellow  hunters  might  hear 
the  report  and  come  to  my  assistance.  But  the  forest  was  per- 
fectly quiet,  though  a  moment  before  my  fall  I  had  heard  Mr. 
Maltby's  horn  and  the  yelping  of  the  dogs  that  followed  him. 
The  situation  was  decidedly  unpleasant.  There  I  was,  as  com- 
pletely lost  as  though  I  had  dropped  down  there  from  the  clouds. 
I  reloaded  my  gun,  expecting  to  be  attacked  by  three  or  four  pan- 
thers at  once,  though  Oarr  has  since  told  me  that  they  are  very 
rare  birds  in  this  latitude.  I  walked  about,  gradually  growing 
more  accustomed  to  the  peculiar  position  of  affairs,  and  gradually 
perceiving  how  serious  the  accident  really  was.  The  most  important 
fact  was  that  I  was  lost.  I  could  not  even  identify  the  tree  that 
had  brushed  me  so  nicely  from  the  saddle.  I  only  knew  that  it 
was  a  beech,  for  I  remembered  the  white  spots  on  the  bark.  And 
I  counted  five  or  six  beeches,  all  near  enough  to  me,  and  each 
looking  exactly  like  all  the  rest.  When  I  first  staggered  up  I 
moved  about,  dizzy  and  confused,  and  I  don't  know  how  far  I  had 
walked  from  the  spot  I  had  occupied  between  my  fall  and  awaken- 
ing before  I  thought  of  finding  my  way  out  of  the  woods.  And 
then,  even  if  I  knew  the  way,  the  walk  was  tolerably  long,  as  I 
was  hurt,  and  wanted  sleep  more  than  anything  else.  I  tried  to 
whistle,  but  failed ;  I  tried  to  hum  a  tune,  but  broke  down  with 
something  like  a  sob.  I  concluded  that  the  adventure  was  per- 
haps a  little  romantic,  but  also  decidedly  disgusting. 
At  length  I  sat  down  at  the  root  of  one  of  the  beeches  and 


5G  HARWOOD. 

endeavoured  to  collect  my  energies.  I  wondered  what  Miss  Eet 
was  like,  and  what  she  would  think  of  the  loss  of  her  inare ;  and 
then  I  wondered  if  I  should  ever  see  either  mare  or  mistress. 
I  wondered  what  Carr  would  think  of  my  manhood.  I  wondered 
whether  Miss  Eet  was  an  old  maid  of  forty  or  a  young  damsel  of 
fourteen.  She  could  not  be  very  young,  or  she  could  not  manage 
that  she-devil  of  a  mare ;  probably  twenty-five.  If  so,  she  would 
think  that  boys  ought  not  to  be  trusted  with  valuable  horses. 
Then  I  wondered  why  Carr  had  not  talked  to  me  about  her.  Was 
she  his  cousin  or  aunt  I  He  called  her  "  Ret,"  so  she  could  not 
be  his  aunt.  What  did  "  Eet"  stand  for  ?  It  was  very  queer  if 
it  was  her  real  name.  And  she  had  a  brother,  named  Herbert ; 
man  enough  to  own  a  gun  and  to  ride  Midnight.  Thank  fortune 
Midnight  had  thrown  him  before  I  ever  saw  her.  I  wondered 
what  Mother  would  think  if  she  knew  how  I  was  amusing  myself 
at  that  particular  moment.  And  then  I  remembered  her  ideas  of 
the  Sabbath,  and  how  I  had  violated  my  own  convictions  when  I 
started  on  the  hunt.  And  then  I  vowed,  from  the  very  depths  of 
my  heart,  that  I  would  never  misspend  the  day  again.  Then  I 
began  to  wonder  whether  I  should  live  to  see  any  more  bright 
Sabbaths  dawn  upon  the  beautiful  earth.  I  suppose  my  breast, 
which  is  bruised  and  still  sore,  hurt  me,  for  I  groaned. 
"  Young  chief  lose  boss  ?  nebber  mind,  Injin  find  him." 
I  started  to  my  feet,  and,  turning  around,  saw  my  Indian  ac- 
quaintance standing  near  me.  He  was  leaning  on  his  gun,  and 
did  not  look  quite  so  drunk  as  he  was  at  our  last  meeting.  I 
noticed  the  long  knife  in  his  belt,  so  he  had  been  back  to  his  hut 
since  I  left  it.  I  did  not  think  about  scalps  this  time,  but  cordi- 
ally shook  the  hand  he  held  out  to  me.  £fo  doubt  I  looked  pale, 
for  I  felt  very  shaky,  and  when  he  pulled  out  the  bottle  from  the 
breast  of  his  shirt  I  did  not  refuse  it.  I  took  a  mouthful  of  the 
whisky,  which  was  horridly  nasty,  but  it  seemed  to  revive  me. 
He  nodded  when  I  gave  him  back  the  bottle,  and  put  it  back  in 
his  bosom,  and  then  motioning  for  me  to  follow  him,  he  struck  off 
into  the  woods.  He  reminded  me  of  a  cat  creeping  along  with 
his  noiseless  step,  and  I  no  longer  wondered  how  he  had  man- 
aged to  approach  me  unheard.  Beneath  my  feet  the  dry  twigs 
cracked  and  the  dead  leaves  rustled,  while  the  Indian,  a  step  in 
advance,  moved  as  silently  as  a  ghost.  We  skirted  a  caiiebrake  of 
some  extent,  pressed  through  a  dense  growth  of  greenbriar  bushes, 
and  at  length  emerged  into  the  open,  a  few  yards  from  the  In- 


MISTEONO.  57 

, 

dian's  hut,  The  first  sight  that  gladdened  iny  eyes  was  Midnight, 
quietly  cropping  the  grass  near  the  spring.  She  was  secured  by 
a  thong,  attached  to  a  wild  grapevine,  which  was  elastic  enough 
to  allow  her  tolerably  wide  grazing  ground.  As  she  raised  her 
head  at  our  approach  I  noticed  that  the  vine  drew  up  and  kept 
the  thong  and  bridle  clear  of  her  legs.  This  is,  therefore,  another 
lesson  in  woodcraft  that  I  have  learned. 

I  walked  round  the  tree,  and  was  about  to  kneel  down  for  a 
drink  at  the  spring,  when  Misty  handed  me  a  gourd,  which  he 
took  from  a  fork  in  the  tree.  If  any  one  who  may  ever  happen  to 
see  this  record,  wants  to  know  what  nectar  tastes  like,  I  advise 
him  or  her  to  get  thrown  from  a  horse  at  about  noon  on  a  May 
day  in  this  latitude  (which  is  about  equal  to  a  July  day  anywhere 
else),  and  to  lie  stunned  on  the  ground  for  an  hour  or  so,  and 
then  to  take  a  mouthful  of  awful  whisky,  and  stumble  through 
wild  vines  and  thickets  for  a  mile  or  two,  till  he  or  she  is  just 
ready  to  die  of  fatigue  and  thirst,  and  then  to  get  a  gourdful 
(say  half  a  gallon)  of  pure,  cold  spring  water,  and  drink  it  in  the 
shade. 

After  I  had  satisfied  my  thirst,  and  washed  down  the  scalding 
taste  of  the  raw  whisky,  I  handed  the  gourd  back  to  the  Indian, 
who  replaced  it  in  the  tree,  and  resumed  his  position,  leaning 
against  the  trunk.  We  took  a  good  look  at  each  other.  There  was 
not  much  trace  of  intoxication  left  in  his  countenance  now,  and  he 
looked  more  respectable  than  at  our  first  interview.  His  long 
black  hair,  which  was  the  only  head  gear  he  wore,  hung  straight 
down  over  his  face  and  neck.  His  little,  sharp,  black  eyes  were 
roving  over  my  person,  resting  upon  my  face  occasionally,  with 
as  friendly  an  expression  as  such  a  countenance  could  assume. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  mixture  of  perplexity  and  intelligence  in 
these  furtive  glances  into  my  eyes,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall 
my  features  to  his  memory,  and  were  baffled  each  time.  He  was 
grave  and  dignified,  apparently  waiting  for  me  to  address  him. 

"  Is  your  name  Misty  ?"  I  asked.  He  looked  all  round  the 
open,  then  nodding  his  head,  he  said, 

u  Yes.  Injin  have  7nudder  name  when  he  was  warrior.  Young 
chief  name  Hubbard  P 

"  Why,  where  did  you  learn  my  name,  Misty  F  I  answered  with 
surprise,  "  and  why  do  you  call  me  young  chief?'7 

"  Injin  see  young  brudder  kill  tiger  cat.  Young  brudder  brave, 
he  be  warrior  biineby.  Injin  was  chief  when  he  live  in  the  Semi- 


53  HAEWOOD. 

nole  country.    Then  he  have  good  name.    Misteono  was  warrior 
before  he  drink  whisky.    Now  he  drunken  Misty." 

"  Who  calls  you  drunken  Misty  ?"  I  asked. 

"  You  hear  him.  Injin  hear  him  when  he  hid  under  the  tree 
yonder.  When  Cap'n  come,  Misty  hide — no  want  Cap'n  see 
him." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  man  who  was  with  Mr.  Maltby  ?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  Cap'n  Delaney.  Misteono  knew  him  in  Everglades — 
Misty  know  him  here." 

"  What  cause  have  you  to  fear  him,  Misteono  V  said  I,  giving 
the  Indian  his  ancient  name.  A  fierce  scowl  passed  over  his  face 
as  he  answered, 

"  Misteono  not  feared !  time  not  come  yet.  See !"  he  added 
suddenly,  pointing  his  finger  at  a  snake  that  appeared  for  an  in- 
stant and  then  wriggled  into  the  bushes  ;  "  Eattlesnake  no  make 
noise  till  he  ready  to  strike." 

I  unfastened  my  horse  and  mounted  with  considerable  agility 
as  I  heard  the  name  of  the  dreaded  reptile.  They  are  uncomfort- 
ably numerous  in  this  locality,  and  I  have  heard  enough  stories 
about  them  from  the  Carrville  people  to  make  me  prefer  my  seat 
in  the  saddle  to  the  grassy  bank  upon  which  I  had  been  standing. 
Misteono  evidently  noticed  my  trepidation  and  understood  its 
cause. 

"  Eattlesnake  not  get  bad  for  two,  tree  moons  yet,"  he  said, 
"  and  he  always  rattle  ?fore  he  bite." 

"  How  did  you  catch  the  horse,  Misteono  P  said  I,  not  wishing 
to  pursue  the  snake  subject  any  further.  It  is  not  worth  while  to 
deny  that  I  am  horridly  afraid  of  all  varieties  of  the  serpent 
tribe ;  and  I  believe  that  this  dread  and  aversion  is  the  instinctive 
feeling  of  all  men. 

"  Him  come  to  the  spring  to  drink.  Bimeby  he  lay  down  to 
roll  and  Misteono  catch  him  before  he  get  up.  Know  young 
chiefs  horse,  so  take  his  trail  and  go  back  for  young  chief.  How 

fa'  off!     Squaw  ride  him "    Without  waiting  for  an  answer 

he  darted  to  the  bushes  just  as  I  heard  the  faint  sound  of  a  horn. 
I  rode  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  and  soon  saw  my  friend  Carr, 
followed  by  Jacobus.  I  shouted  as  soon  as  they  came  into  sight, 
and  Carr  galloped  up  to  me,  exclaiming  "  Here  he  is,  by  Jove !" 

There  is  not  much  more  to  tell.  It  seems  that  the  whole  hunting 
party  returned  to  Mr.  Maltby's,  and  after  waiting  an  hour  for  my 


MISTEONO.  59 

arrival,  Carr  concluded  that  I  was  lost.  Learning  from  Mr.  Malt- 
by  that  lie  had  left  ine  near  the  Indian's  wigwam  he  had  started 
with  Jacobus  to  look  for  me. 

"  I  have  been  delayed  somewhat,"  he  said,  "  as  I  came  round 
by  Manahio,  supposing  that  you  would  leave  the  mare  to  find  the 
way  for  you,  and  I  was  sure  she  would  go  straight  home.  I  was 
a  good  deal  disappointed,  and,  indeed,  uneasy  when  I  found  you 
had  not  been  there.  But  when  I  reached  your  stand  and  dis- 
covered that  you  had  ridden  off  eastwardly  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  hunt  for  you  in  the  wilderness  of  the  Anrite." 

"I  did  not  have  a  choice  of  routes,"  I  answered.     "  Midnight, 
took  matters  into  her  own  charge  as  soon  as  I  mounted  and  soon 
unseated  me.    But  tell  me,  Carr,  how  shall  I  reward  Misty,  who 
has  been  a  true  friend  in  need." 

"Oh,  give  him  a  gallon  of  whisky  and  he  will  be  grateful  while 
it  lasts.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  the  rascal  is  such  a  drunkard ! 
He  is  oue  of  the  best  hunters  I  know.  And  you  ought  to  see  him 
spiking  the  fish  in  the  creek  by  torch-light.  You  shall  see  him, 
by  Jupiter !  We  will  change  our  fishing  excursion  to  the  pools  of 
the  creek  to  a  regular  gigging  party,  and  Misty  shall  be  master  of 
ceremonies.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"Agreed,"  I  replied ;  "  but  where  are  you  going  now  F 

"  To  Mauahio,  of  course,"  answered  Carr,  "  where  you  will  get 
some  dinner  and  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in  any  way  that  may 
suit  your  fancy." 

"  Not  to-day,  Carr,  if  you  please.  Let  me  go  home,  take  a  bath 
and  dress  my  wounds  and  bruises.  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  visit 
Manahio  some  other  time." 

"  Well,  to-morrow  evening  then,  or" — seeing  that  I  hesitated — 
"  say  Tuesday.  Give  me  your  gun  and  ammunition  and  Jake  will 
go  with  you  as  far  as  the  ford.  Keep  the  mare  till  Tuesday  and 
I  will  come  into  town  after  dinner  and  ride  out  with  you.  Good 
bye." 

I  got  home  safely,  took  a  famous  nap  after  my  bath,  ate  a  good 
supper,  and  then  sat  up  half  the  night  journalizing.  And  here 
have  I  been  doing  the  same  thing  to-night,  but  I'm  off  to  bed. 


GO  HAEWOOD. 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  DOCTOR. 

TUESDAY,  May  11, 1836. 

npHE  postmaster  of  Carrville,  Mr.  White,  has  located  his  office 
-L  in  a  little  building  adjoining  our  store.  I  have  allowed  him 
to  open  a  door  into  the  store  room,  so  that  I  have  an  oversight  of 
the  post-office  while  I  am  in  our  own  building.  We  have  a  mail 
twice  a  week,  and  I  have  been  sworn  in  as  deputy  postmaster,  and 
I  find  that  I  shall  have  all  the  work  to  do,  which  don't  amount  to 
a  great  deal.  It  takes  about  fifteen  minutes  to  open  and  assort  the 
mail,  and  about  as  much  time  to  make  up  the  mail  that  leaves 
Carrville— so  that  I  have  undertaken  to  do  fifty  hours  work  in  the 
year  for  fifty  dollars  per  annum.  In  to-day's  mail  there  were  two 
letters  for  me.  One  from  home  ;  all  well  and  happy  except  for 
my  absence ;  the  other  from.  Mr.  Bayard,  who  is  still  in  New 
Orleans.  He  says  there  is  some  reason  to  fear  that  the  Seagull 
is  lost,  with  all  our  goods  on  board,  and  asks  me  for  a  list  of  in- 
voices, and  a  memorandum  of  the  insurance.  I  have  answered 
both  letters,  and  have  placed  the  insurance  policies  in  the  iron 
safe  at  the  hotel.  I  find  that  the  total  amount  of  purchases  is 
twelve  thousand  dollars,  and  that  the  insurance  is  for  that  amount 
and  ten  per  centum  advance,  which  is  according  to  custom.  So, 
if  the  Seagull  is  lost,  Mr.  Bayard  will  make  twelve  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  the  difference  of  interest  between  the  settlement  of  the 
claims  upon  the  underwriters  and  the  maturity  of  his  bills  in 
October  next.  He  concluded  his  letter  in  these  words :  "  If  the 
ship  is  ascertained  to  be  lost,  one  of  us  will  have  to  go  North  to 
collect  the  insurance  and  replace  the  goods."  I  did  not  reply  to 
this  portion  of  his  letter,  because  I  did  not  know  whether  he 
meant  to  include  me  in  the  "  one  of  us,'7  or  whether  he  referred  to 
a  silent  partner,  to  whom  I  have  heard  him  allude  once  or  twice. 
It  would  be  too  good  news  if  he  meant  that  I  might  have  an  op- 
portunity to  visit  my  dear  home  so  soon. 

There  are  two  gentlemen  in  this  place  of  whom  I  have  been  in- 
tending  to  say  something  ever  since  I  began  this  diary,  and  I  may 
as  well  take  the  present  opportunity  to  put  down  my  impressions 
concerning  them.  Of  course,  I  know  very  little  about  them,  but 
they  have  both  been  very  friendly  in  their  intercourse  with  me,  and 


THE  DOCTOR.  61 

I  like  them  particularly.  The  first  is  Mr.  Robert  White,  our  post- 
master. He  is  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  fellow,  about  thirty  years  old ; 
rather  good  looking  and  moderately  lazy,  or,  perhaps,  I  ought  to 
say,  indolent.  I  met  him  on  the  night  of  my  arrival,  and  was 
pleased  with  him  from  the  first.  Carr  tells  me  that  he  owns  no 
plantation  in  this  neighbourhood,  though  his  wife  has  one  some- 
where in  what  they  call  the  "Te'che  Country."  I  suppose  this 
means  the  lands  lying  on  or  near  the  Bayou  Teche.  He  lives,  in  a 
pretty  little  house  on  the  outskirts  of  Carrville,  and  I  spent  a 
pleasant  hour  there  one  afternoon  last  week.  I  called  him  lazy 
just  now,  but  when  I  remember  the  beautiful  garden  around  his 
house,  which  he  has  adorned  with  his  own  hands,  and  which  he  is 
all  the  time  improving,  I  am  forced  to  recall  the  slander.  Still  he 
seems  to  be  lazy  about  everything  else.  He  won't  do  anything 
about  the  post-office  that  he  can  escape.  When  he  proposed  to 
open  the  door  of  communication  between  the  office  and  our  store 
room,  he  said : 

"  I  don't  intend  to  work  much  among  the  mails.  I  did  not  ask 
for  the  appointment ;  and  I  should  like  you  to  undertake  the  prin- 
cipal part  of  the  duties  at  whatever  price  you  think  reasonable* 
You  can  do  all  the  mail  work  in  an  hour  each  week.  The  revenue 
it  yields  me  is  very  trifling,  but  it  will  be  advantageous  to  you  to 
Lave  it  located  near  your  store.  What  do  you  think  would  com- 
pensate you  ?" 

u  Fifty  dollars  per  annum,"  I  answered. 

"  Agreed!"  said  Mr.  White,  and  that  was  the  bargain. 

The  thing  that  made  the  strongest  impression  upon  me  the  other 
evening  when  I  called  at  his  house,  was  the  profound  affection  he 
and  his  wife  entertain  for  each  other.  There  was  no  violent  de- 
monstration, but  it  was  constantly  apparent.  The  mere  inflexions 
of  their  voices,  as  they  called  each  other's  names — u  Eobert "  or 
"  Mary,"  attracted  my  attention  all  the  time.  I  do  not  believe  that 
I  can  describe  them,  or  even  express  what  I  think  about  them, 
but  I  only  know  that  I  have  never  seen  a  man  and  his  wife  so 
cordially  devoted  to  each  other  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  White  seem  to  be. 
They  have  no  children.  I  shall  probably  have  more  to  say  about 
them  hereafter.  Perhaps  the  best  indication  I  can  offer  of  the 
impression  their  unity  of  sentiment  made  upon  me,  is  the  fact  that 
I  never  think  of  them  separately. 

The  other  gentleman  is  Doctor  Markham,  the  only  physician  in 
this  neighbourhood.  And  now  that  I  have  written  his  name,  I  am 


62  HAEWOOD. 

at  a  loss  to  begin  a  description  of  him.  He  is  probably  a  year  or 
two  younger  than  Mr.  White,  and  is  undoubtedly  a  right  down 
good  fellow.  His  office  is  opposite  the  store  and  I  see  him  fre- 
quently during  the  day,  sometimes  mounting  his  horse  to  start  out 
on  his  round  of  visits,  and  looking  as  if  he  had  not  fully  made  up 
his  mind  whether  to  start  or  not,  or  which  foot  he  would  put  into 
the  stirrup.  Sometimes,  when  he  comes  home,  his  horse  stops  at 
his  door  and  he  sits  awhile  in  the  saddle,  as  if  debating  in  his  own 
mind  whether  or  not  he  had  better  dismount,  or  call  his  little 
nigger  "  Sam  "  to  help  him  down.  He  is  the  slowest  man  I  ever 
met,  and  yet  he  is  a  man  of  excellent  sense  and  sound  judgment* 
His  practice  is  large,  and  probably  would  be  profitable,  if  he  were 
not  too  lazy  to  attend  to  collections.  This  morning,  as  he  was  rid- 
ing away,  he  called  out  to  me  across  the  street : 

"Hubbard!  I  wish  those  drugs  of  yours  would  come,  I  am 
almost  out  of  calomel !" 

"  I  can  get  some  for  you,  doctor,"  I  answered. 

"Where?    How?" 

"  From  Baton  Rouge.  I  can  send  by  Captain  Joli,  and  have  it 
here  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  So  you  can !"  he  exclaimed,  after  meditating  a  few  minutes. 
"  I  wish  you  would  send  for  half  a  pound."  And  then  he  paused 
again,  and  added,  "  Hey !  No !  Say  a  quarter  of  a  pound.  Maybe 
it  is  not  good!"  Another  pause,  and  then— "No,  you  had  better 
get  a  pound !  When  yours  comes  I  can  use  this  for  external  ap- 
plications. Get  up  !"  And  away  he  went. 

He  came  back  about  noon.  I  have  had  toothache  for  a  day  or 
two,  and  to-day  it  was  dreadful.  So  when  the  doctor  returned,  I 
walked  over  to  his  office  and  followed  him  into  it.  He  shook  hands 
with  me  and  handed  me  a  chair  with  great  politeness.  Then  he 
took  off  his  hat  and  coat,  and  bawled  out  for  "  Sam."  When  the 
young  African  appeared,  the  doctor  told  him  to  "  get  some  water 
in  the  other  room."  The  boy  moved  with  great  activity  to  obey 
his  commands,  and  presently  I  heard  the  doctor  splashing  in  the 
water  in  the  next  room.  He  came  to  the  door  in  a  short  time,  rub- 
bing his  face  with  a  towel,  and  wiping  his  hands  as  though  he 
never  intended  to  consider  them  dry.  At  last  he  looked  at  me 
attentively  and  said : 

"What  ails  you,  Hubbard  ?    Your  face  is  a  yard  long  P 

"  I've  got  the  toothache,  doctor." 

"  Hey !    Where  is  it  ?" 


THE  DOCTOR.  63 

"  In  my  mouth,  sir,"  I  replied  with  a  sickly  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"  The  deuce  it  is  !" 

He  pulled  open  a  little  drawer  and  took  out  two  or  three  horrid 
looking  implements.  The  pain  suddenly  subsided,  and  I  began  to 
think  what  an  ass  I  was  to  come  over  there  at  all.  But  I  was 
ashamed  to  back  out  now,  so  I  allowed  him  to  examine  my  grinders. 

il  Does  it  ache  much  F  asked  the  doctor,  after  he  had  found  the 
ailing  tooth,  and  poked  about  it  in  a  very  unpleasant  manner. 

"  No,  sir ;  it  don't  ache  at  all  now."  He  laughed,  and  I  plucked 
up  courage  to  ask :  "  Do  you  think  it  ought  to  come  out,  doc- 
tor?" 

"  Yes ;  it  will  probably  ache  until  you  get  rid  of  it ;  but  if  you 
don't  want  it  out,  I'll  put  some  kreosote  in  the  cavity  ;  maybe  it 
will  get  easier." 

"  Will  it  hurt  me  much  to  draw  it  F 

"  Yes ;  it  will  hurt  like  blazes,"  he  replied,  with  charming  can- 
dor. "The  gum  is  inflamed  and  sore ;  but  it  will  soon  be  over, 
and  I  think  you  will  survive  the  operation."  And  here  he  laughed 
again. 

"  Work  your  fiendish  wilt  upon  me !"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  rage. 
He  put  his  arm  around  my  head,  and  passed  a  lancet  around  the 
gum.  Then  he  seized  the  tooth  in  the  forceps,  the  heavens  and  the 
earth  came  together  with  a  crash,  and  the  doctor  stood  over  me, 
nourishing  the  extracted  molar  in  triumph  above  my  head. 
Slow  as  he  is  about  most  things,  he  was  fast  enough  this  time. 

"There!"  he  said,  kindly,  "you  bore  that  like  a  stoic.  I  ex- 
pected you  to  howl  a  little.  It  hurt,  didn't  it  ?  Here !  take  a  sip 
of  brandy.  I  don't  often  recommend  brandy,  either.  Will  you 
have  another  tooth  drawn  F 

"  Ko,  I  thank  you,  doctor.  I  am  sorry  to  deny  you  the  grat- 
ification, too;  but  the  next  time  I  submit  to  such  an  opera- 
tion it  will  be  after  I  have  endured  the  pain  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days." 

"  It  won't  be  a  wisdom  tooth,  then,"  quoth  the  doctor.  "  Here, 
I'll  lend  you  a  book ;"  and  he  took  a  volume  from  a  shelf.  "  It  is 
old  Burton's  Anatomy." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  doctor,"  I  answered,  "but  I  have 
the  book,  and  have  already  read  it  through." 

"  The  deuce  you  have !  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  !  read 
it  through !  What  d'ye  mean  ?  Have  you  laid  it  aside  as  a  work 
accomplished  F 


64  HARWOOD. 

11  No,  indeed  $  I  read  a  little  every  time  I  get  a  chance.  One 
does  not  finish  Burton  with  one  reading." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Not  quite  twenty-one  ;"  replied  I.  And  then  I  thought  it  was 
a  small  business  to  pretend  to  be  older  than  I  was,  so  I  added : 
"  the  truth  is,  doctor,  I  am  not  quite  twenty.  I  am  about  nine- 
teen and  a  half." 

"  Well,  you  will  be  older  in  a  few  years,  if  you  live;  besides, 
there  is  not  much  difference  between  nineteen  and  twenty-one. 
A  man  don't  have  any  sense  until  he  is  thirty-five  or  forty,  any- 
how." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  so  old,  doctor,"  I  rejoined  with  a 
bow. 

"  Who  ?  I  ?  Oh,  I  don't  profess  to  be  very  wise ;  and  there  are 
exceptions  to  all  general  rules.  Are  you  going  ?  Well,  I'll  call 
over  to-night  and  have  a  talk  with  you." 

"  I  am  going  to  Mr.  Carr's  to-night,  but  any  other  time " 

"  Why,  so  am  I!  I  have  to  see  that  boy  again  to-day.  Well, 
then,  I'll  meet  you  there,  if  I  am  not  able  to  ride  out  with  you. 
Good  bye !" 

I  have  written  all  this  about  Doctor  Markham,  because  he  can 
thus  describe  himself  better  than  I  can  describe  him.  Mr.  White 
says  his  patients  are  all  very  much  attached  to  him,  and  that  he 
could  "  take  his  choice  "  among  the  young  ladies  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, if  he  were  inclined  to  marry.  When  I  know  him  better  I 
intend  to  find  out  why  it  is  that  he  keeps  single ;  but  I  hear  Carr's 
voice,  and  now  I  must  get  ready  for  our  ride.  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  wear  a  black  coat,  hot  as  it  is.  We  won't  have  the  doc- 
tor's company,  as  I  saw  him  ride  off  an  hour  ago. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

RET. 

WEDNESDAY,  May  12, 1836. 

T  FEEL  so  bewildered,  and  (I  don't  know  why)  also  so  dispirited 
-L  to-night,  that  I  am  half  inclined  to  put  my  diary  away  again  and 
go  to  bed.  There  is  some  unfathomable  mystery  enveloping  me,  and 
the  matters  I  have  to  record  are  so  strange  to  my  mind  that  I  kept 


RET.  65 

awake  all  last  night,  thinking  and  wondering.  I  believe  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  consult  Mr.  White,  and  to  be  guided  by  his 
advice.  He  is  a  good  man,  and  I  can  trust  him  with  the  whole 
story.  Since  I  came  in  from  Manahio,  this  morning,  I  have  had 
very  little  to  do,  and  I  have  spent  the  day  in  thinking  over  the 
events  of  last  night.  The  workmen  have  gone  at  last — the  store 
being  finished  ;  and  I  have  been  alone  here  all  day,  as  Mr.  White 
went  to  Baton  Eouge  early  this  morning.  I  cannot  go  to  sleep, 
if  I  go  to  bed,  so  I  will  write  until  I  feel  drowsy,  anyhow. 

After  Carr  and  I  crossed  the  creek  yesterday  afternoon  we 
turned  into  a  broad  carriage  road,  which  followed  the  course  of 
the  stream  for  more  than  a  mile.  We  arrived  at  the  grounds 
around  the  house,  which  is  not  far  from  the  Manahio,  at  sunset. 
Like  all  residences  in  this  State,  the  house  is  surrounded  with  a 
broad  veranda,  and  for  eight  or  nine  months  in  the  year  the  spa- 
cious "  galleries,"  as  they  term  them,  are  the  living  rooms  of  the 
family.  As  we  rode  up  the  gravelled  road,  approaching  the  house, 
I  saw  several  persons  on  this  open  porch,  and  my  heart  beat  with 
mingled  curiosity  and  bashfulness  as  I  perceived  that  a  young 
lady  was  one  of  the  party.  She  was  dressed — pshaw !  what  do  I 
know  about  her  dress !  I  only  noticed  that  it  was  black,  and 
looked  blacker  in  contrast  with  her  fair  neck  and  arms.  I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  call  these  "alabaster."  She  has  brown  hair, 
brown  eyes,  generally  sad  looking,  though  sometimes  bright  and 
sparkling.  I  don't  know  whether  she  is  handsome  or  not.  Prob- 
ably she  is,  or  would  be,  if  she  did  not  dress  in  black.  She  is 
eighteen.  I  heard  Mr.  Carr  say  that  she  was  two  years  older  than 
her  brother,  and  he  told  me  that  he  was  sixteen.  But  I  am  anti- 
cipating. 

Jacobus  took  our  horses,  and  as  we  ascended  the  steps  Mr.  Carr 
came  forward  to  meet  us.  He  shook  hands  with  me,  inquired  if 
I  felt  any  ill  effects  from  my  late  accident,  and  then  presented  me 
to  the  young  lady,  who  stood  near  him. 

"  Mr.  Hubbard,  my  dear ;  Miss  HARWOOD,  sir !"  I  bowed  and 
stammered  something,  as  the  lady  returned  my  salutation,  and 
Mr.  Carr,  who  had  me  by  the  arm,  led  me  to  a  youth  seated  in  an 
arm  chair,  and  finished  the  ceremony,  and  nearly  finished  we,  by 
adding :  "  Mr.  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  sir !  The  boy  had  his  right 
arm  in  a  sling,  and  he  put  out  his  left  hand  to  me,  saying :  "  Mid- 
night gave  me  a  tumble,  too,  Mr.  Hubbard.  Please  excuse  my 
left  hand !"  He  is  a  bright  looking  fellow,  and  decidedly  good 

5 


66  HARWOOD. 

looking,  too.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  said  or  do  no  in 
iny  confusion,  if  Dr.  Markham  had  not  come  up,  and  shaking  my 
hand,  inquired :  <;  How  is  the  toothache  now,  Burton  F 

What  under  the  shining  sun  does  it  mean?  My  name  is  not  a 
very  common  name,  and  here  I  find  a  boy  bearing  it,  while  I  have 
lost  it.  There  certainly  must  be  some  wonderful  mystery  about 
the  business.  How  has  it  chanced  that  I  have  never  heard  the 
name  of  this  brother  and  sister  before?  I  remember,  when 
the  negro  told  me  the  story  of  the  haunted  laurels,  he  spoke  of 
their  dead  father  constantly  as  "  Mars'r  John."  While  I  lay 
awake  last  night,  thinking  confusedly  of  that  ghost  story  and  of 
these  young  children  and  their  sorrows,  of  the  melancholy  expres- 
sion of  the  girl's  face,  and  the  horrid  burden  she  constantly  bears, 
in  the  knowledge  of  her  father's  death,  perhaps  by  nis  own  hand ; 
and  then  her  brother's  name,  Herbert — a  name  given  to  me  in 
memory  of  my  father's  uncle,  and  so  uncommon  that  I  have 
never  known  a  single  individual  who  bore  it — while  I  thought  of 
all  these  matters,  I  vow  that  I  almost  fancied  the  room  was 
haunted.  I  was  foolish  enough,  at  last,  to  get  out  of  bed,  dress 
myself,  excepting  my  boots,  and  sit  at  the  window,  smoking 
cigars,  and  listening  to  the  murmur  of  the  Manahio,  which  I  could 
hear  distinctly  in  the  stillness  of  the  night.  But  I  am  not  telling 
my  story  very  coherently. 

At  the  tea  table  I  sat  next  to  Miss  Ret,  which  is  the  universal 
name  of  Miss  Harwood,  and  had  some  slight  opportunity  to  look 
at  her  and  converse  with  her.  She  looks  actually  beautiful 
when  she  smiles,  which  she  does  very  rarely,  however.  Doctor 
Markham  asked  her  brother  if  he  felt  disposed  to  ride  Midnight 
again,  and  if  "  he  would  like  to  have  his  other  shoulder  put  into 
place  F 

"  I  am  ready  to  take  another  ride  whenever  Eet  will  lend  me 
her  mare,"  replied  Herbert  5  u  but  I  am.  not  the  only  one  she  has 
thrown  ;"  and  here  he  glanced  slyly  at  me. 

"  I  was  not  exactly  thrown,"  replied  I,  u  the  mare  brushed  me 
off  by  running  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  tree.  Besides,  /  had  no 
bridle.  You  must  be  tolerably  courageous,  Miss  Harwood,  to 
undertake  the  management  of  Midnight." 

"  Oh,  she  never  misbehaves  with  me,"  she  rejoined,  with  a 
smile;  "perhaps  she  is  like  most  of  her  sex,  restive  under  mas- 
culine restraint." 

"  I  am  always  uneasy,  however^  Miss  Henrietta,"  said  Mr.  Carr, 


RET.  67 

"  when  you  mount  that  animal,  and  I  have  nearly  concluded  to 
forbid  your  use  of  her  for  a  year  or  so.  She  will,  perhaps,  be 
more  discreet  when  she  is  more  matured." 

"  Now,  father,"  said  Charley,  "  you  must  not  lay  an  embargo 
on  Bet's  rides.  Herbert  was  thrown  because  he  would  spur 
Midnight,  and  Mr.  Hubbard — by  Jove!  Jie  had  spurs  on  Sun- 
day, too  !  I  had  forgotten  all  about  them  !  Look  at  him ;  he  is 
actually  blushing  5  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  my  friend  !  She 
threw  you  because  you  spurred  her.  Hey  P 

"  No  !  Yes !  that  is "  and  everybody,  Miss  Eet  included, 

began  to  laugh.  I  told  the  story  of  the  accident  as  soon  as  they 
got  quiet  enough  to  listen,  but  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  that  they 
all  blame  the  spur.  Anyhow,  they  laughed  again  when  I  had 
finished.  It  is  just  possible  that  the  accidental  touch  of  my 
"  armed  heel "  hastened  matters  somewhat. 

"  How  old  is  your  mare,  Miss  Harwood  ?"  I  asked. 

"Four  years  on  the  first  of  July  next,"  she  replied.  I  was 
about  to  say  something  concerning  her  accuracy  in  dates,  when  I 
observed  the  smile  fade  away  from  her  face,  which  became  deadly 
pale.  I  thought  everybody  looked  Bather  grave,  and  wondered 
what  impropriety  there  could  be  in  the  question  and  answer. 
There  was  a  few  minutes'  silence  after  her  reply,  which  seemed  to 
be  embarrassing,  and  it  was  at  last  broken  by  the  young  lady 
herself  remarking  that  both  her  brother  and  I  had  met  with  our 
disasters  on  the  Sabbath. 

"Do  you  really  believe,  Bet,"  said  Charley  Carr,  "  that  the  day 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  occurrences  ?  Because  Midnight 
must  then  be  more  religiously  inclined  than  any  of  us.  Besides, 
you  are  in  some  sort  responsible  yourself,  as  the  mare  is  your 
property." 

"You  know  very  well,  Charley,"  retorted  Eet,  "that  the  animal 
was  used  on  both  occasions  without  my  knowledge  or  consent, 
and  you  also  know  that  I  should  have  objected,  if  my  opinion  or 
will  had  been  consulted."  This  was  said  with  a  quiet  dignity, 
and  she  looked  beautiful  once  more,  though  she  did  not  smile. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  confess,"  said  I,  interrupting  Carr's  re- 
joinder— "that  my  first  thought,  when  I  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  the  fall,  was,  that  I  deserved  my  fate  for  violating  the 
Sabbath.  Moreover,  my  firmest  resolution  at  the  same  time  was 
to  avoid  all  similar  abuses  of  the  day  hereafter."  They  were  all 
looking  at  me  when  I  said  this,  Miss  Eet  very  kindly,  Mr.  Carr 


68  HARWOOD. 

very  curiously,  and.  Charley  and  the  doctor  very  incredulously. 
I  went  on  bravely :  "  I  am  not  particularly  pious,  and  I  know  I 
do  a  great  many  worse  things  ;  but  my  Mother  would  be  deeply 
pained  if  she  knew  how  I  had  spent  that  day." 

"That's  right,  Burton,"  said  the  doctor,  patting  me  on  the 
back,  "and  I'll  knock  anybody  down  that  says  you  are  wrong." 

"  The  resolution  was  a  good  one  at  least,"  observed  Miss  Har- 
wood,  "whether  the  motive  was  proper  or  not.  I  mean,"  she 
added  apologetically,  as  we  rose  from  the  table,  "  I  mean  that 
you  might  have  had  even  a  better  motive  than  love  for  your 
Mother."  Once  more  she  looked  superbly  lovely. 

"  Perhaps  I  have,  or  may  have,"  replied  I,  in  a  low  tone.  She 
heard  me,  but  nobody  else  did.  She  is  a  wonderful  woman,  con- 
sidering her  age !  My  answer  was  somewhat  equivocal,  and  her 
look  showed  that  she  so  regarded  it.  We  were  all  seated  on  the 
gallery  a  few  minutes  later,  where  we  found  a  Mr.  G-owrie,  an  old 
Scottish  gentleman  living  at  Oarrville,  who  had  just  arrived.  The 
discussion  was  resumed  by  the  doctor,  who  observed  that  all  days 
were  necessarily  alike  to  him,  inasmuch  as  people  "  got  sick  on 
Sunday,  and  had  to  be  visited  and  prescribed  for."  I  waited  for 
somebody  else  to  answer  him  until  Oarr  asked :  "  What  have  you 
to  say  to  that,  Hubbard  f ' 

"I  don't  know  why  you  appeal  to  me,"  I  replied,  "but  it  is  only 
necessary  to  say  that  good  people  hold  that  works  of  necessity 
and  mercy  are  allowable  on  the  Sabbath.  The  doctors  vocation 
includes  both  classes." 

"My  idea,"  quoth  the  doctor,  "is,  that  men  should  cultivate  a 
thankful,  and,  if  you  please,  a  devout  frame  of  mind  all  the  time. 
I  don't  believe  in  any  religion  that  one  puts  on  only  one  day  in 
seven." 

"  That  is  to  say,  the  Sabbath  is  the  product  of  mere  human 
superstition,"  I  replied,  "  or,  at  least,  that  actions  which  are 
wrong  on  Sunday  are  equally  wrong  on  any  other  day." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Charley  Carr.  There  was  a  short  pause.  Miss 
Harwood  looked  inquiringly  at  me,  as  if  she  expected  me  to  say 
more.  She  sat  just  opposite  one  of  the  windows,  and  the  light 
from  the  room  shone  on  her  face.  I  could  not  resist  the  look.  I 
was  foolish  enough  to  fancy  that  it  said,  "  Answer  him,"  in  a  tone 
that  was  at  once  imperious  and  gentle.  Mr.  Carr  appeared  rest- 
less, and  tired  of  the  conversation.  Master  Herbert  was  whistling 
softly;  nevertheless,  I  ventured  one  more  shot. 


KET.  69 

"  You  seem  so  well  satisfied  with  your  conclusion,  Carr,  that  it 
is  almost  a  pity  to  disturb  your  serenity,  but  I  will  just  say  an- 
other word :  if  we  are  creatures  at  all,  we  owe  allegiance  to  the 
Creator,  and  He  has  expressly  commanded  a  special  observance 
of  one  day  of  the  week.  He  has  forbidden  certain  things  on  the 
Sabbath  which  He  enjoins  upon  us  during  the  week." 

"That  is  verra  weel  put,  young  gentleman,"  observed  Mr. 
Gowrie,  "  but  it  does  not  contain  all  the  argument."  We  were 
all  slightly  startled  by  this  remark.  Mr.  Gowrie  had  walked  out 
from  the  village,  and  declined  the  invitation  to  supper  when  Mr. 
Carr  found  him  on  the  gallery,  saying  he  had  already  supped. 
He  had  been  listening  very  quietly  to  the  conversation,  and  this 
was  his  first  remark.  There  was  something  pugnacious  in  the 
tone,  which  awakened  the  doctor's  pugnacity  in  turn. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  an  argument,  Mr.  Gowrie,"  said  he,  "  if 
there  is  one." 

"  It  is  no'  easy  to  state  it  in  full,  but  the  septenary  division  of 
time  seems  to  be  written  upon  the  nature  of  humanity.  It  is 
found  among  heathen  tribes,  who  never  heard  of  either  Jewish  or 
Christian  Sabbath." 

"But  that  proves  nothing  about  the  establishment  of  a  special 
day  for  religious  observance.  Does  it,  Burton  ?" 

"  I  beg  to  refer  you  to  Mr.  Gowrie.  My  side  of  the  debate  is  in 
his  hands  now,  and  I  am  well  content  to  leave  it  there." 

"D'ye  happen  to  know,"  said  the  Scot,  "why  the  Sabbath  came 
to  be  observed  at  first  ?" 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then  a  sweet  voice  answered? 
"  For  in  six  days  the  Lord  made  heaven  and  earth,  the  sea 
ami  all  that  in  them  is,  and  rested  the  seventh  day ;  wherefore, 
the  Lord  blessed  the  Sabbath  day  and  hallowed  it." 

"  Preceesely.  The  young  leddy  has  given  the  best  possible  an- 
swer. If  you  believe  the  words  she  has  quoted  have  authority,  I 
suppose  there  need  be  nae  mair  argumentation." 

"  I  have  an  objection  to  put  in  just  there,"  said  Charley  Carr. 
"  The  day,  you  observe,  is  not  the  day  referred  to  in  Miss  Har- 
wood's  quotation." 

"  And  I  have  another  slight  objection,"  quoth  the  doctor.  "  I 
happen  to  be  a  geologist,  and,  therefore,  I  can  never  believe  that 
this  earth  was  made  in  six  days." 

The  Scot  settled  himself  in  his  chair,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  answered : 


70  EARWOOD. 

"  Til  just  tak>  one  objection,  at  a  time,  and  begin  with  yours, 
doctor.  Geology  is  a  fine  science,  and  I  cherish  a  great  respect 
for  it,  but  it  is  no?  quite  so  auld  as  revelation.  Then,  its  professors 
dinna  agree  verra  weel  aniaug  themselves.  I  know  of  a  dispute, 
in  which  a  few  millions  of  years  are  involved,  between  twa  of  your 
maist  famous  professors  in  Scotland." 

"  But  they  agree  in  rejecting  the  six  days  story,  anyhow." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  answered  Mr.  Gowrie,  "they  agree  in  many  points; 
but  I  am  no?  certain  about  the  sax  days  inyseP,  and,  in  fact,  I 
dinna  care  a  bawbee  whether  it  was  sax  days  or  sax  million  ages. 
D'ye  happen  to  have  a  copy  of  the  Scriptures  at  hand,  Miss  Har- 
wood  P 

Miss  Harwood  rose,  stepped  through  the  window  into  the  room, 
and  reappeared  in  a  moment  with  a  Bible  in  her  hand,  which  she 
offered  to  Mr.  Gowrie. 

"  If  I  may  be  so  bauld,"  he  said,  "  I'll  trouble  you  to  read  the 
passages  I  want ;  my  eyes  are  no  sae  young  as  they  were  forty 
years  ago." 

u  With  pleasure,  sir,"  replied  she.  "  I  can  see  perfectly  by  this 
light." 

"  Weel,"  began  the  theologue,  dogmatically,  "  there  were  twa 
things  which  God  gave  to  man  in  Eden  that  he  brought  out  wP 
him.  He  left  somewhat  in  a  hurry  and  brought  very  little  else. 
The  first  was  the  marriage  relation,  the  second  was  the  Sabbath." 

"  That  is  a  striking  remark,"  said  Dr.  Markhain,  "  and  I  am 
pleased  to  admit  it  5  but  the  six  days " 

"  Bide  a  wee,  we'll  hae  the  sax  days  soon  enough.  Please  to 
read  a  varse  or  twa  of  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis,  Miss  Ret." 
She  read  three  verses,  and  Mr.  Gowrie  stopped  her.  "  There  is 
the  whole  story  ab  initio.  I  tak>  it  for  granted  that  you  young 
gentlemen  will  admit  that  these  varses  contain  the  whole  original 
account  of  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Charley  and  the  doctor  in  a  breath. 

"  Weel,"  said  Mr.  Gowrie,  very  slowly  and  composedly,  "  there 
is  na  word.aboot  the  sax  days  there." 

Miss  Jlarwood  read  the  verses  again.  There  was  a  pause. 
Everybody  appeared  reluctant  to  "  tackle "  the  Scotsman.  He 
looked  very  grisly,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  dim  light,  audibly 
chuckling. 

al  cannot  see  the  force  of  the  omission,  Mr.  Gowrie,"  said  Miss 
Eet,  at  last.  u  Will  you  please  explain  f 


SET.  71 

"  Certainly,  so  far  as  I  can.  I  think  the  Sabbath  was  hal- 
lowed because  God  rested,  not  because  He  worked.  He  could  have 
made  the  world  in  sax  minutes,  if  He  pleased,  or  He  may  have 
wrought  through  countless  ages.  It  mats  no  differ  in  either  case, 
as  it  is  the  Best  we  celebrate  on  the  Sabbath." 

"  Mr.  Gowrie/7  said  the  doctor,  elaborately,  "  I  am  sure  you  err 
in  calling  the  day  <the  Sabbath.7  It  is  probably  owing  to  the  mis- 
fortune of  your  Presbyterian  education.  The  day  observed  by 
Christians  (except  Seventh-day  Baptists),  whatever  their  mode  of 
observance,  is  in  no  sense  of  the  word  c  the  Sabbath/  which  is  a 
peculiarly  Jewish  institution,  and  belongs  to  the  seventh  day  of 
the  week  alone.  If  you  observe  the  seventh  day  you  observe  the 
Sabbath ;  if  the  first  day,  be  as  rigid  as  you  please,  it  is  '  Sun- 
day/ or  <  the  Lord's  day/  if  you  like,  but  not i  the  Sabbath.'  You 
might  as  well  call  Easter  *  the  Passover.7 " 

Here  was  another  pause.  At  first  I  thought  Mr.  Gowrie  was 
floored,  but  happened  again  to  hear  his  truculent  chuckle.  I 
looked  intently  at  him,  saw  his  eyes  twinkle,  and  waited  for  his 
answer. 

"  I  dinna  ken  whether  you'll  hae  the  patience  to  hear  the 
answer " 

"  You  can't  get  off  so  easily,  Mr.  Gowrie,"  said  Charley,  de- 
lightedly ;  "  we'll  listen  to  you  all  night,  if  necessary." 

11  Less  time  will  do,  Maister  Charley,  and  I  am  the  inair  willing 
to  answer  the  doctor,*  because  I  answer  yon  objection  of  yours  at 
the  same  time.  Will  the  young  leddy  please  read  a  varse  or  twa 
from  the  fourth  of  Hebrews  V9 

"  What  verse,  sir  F 

"  A  weel,  begin  wi'  the  fourth  varse.77 

And  Miss  Harwood  read : 

"  For  He  spoke  in  a  certain  place  of  the  seventh  day  on  this 
wise — l  And  God  did  rest  the  seventh  day  from  all  His  works.7  w 

"  That  is  to  say/7  said  Mr.  Gowrie,  expounding,  "  He  so  spoke  in 
the  second  chapter  of  Genesis,  which  Miss  Eet  has  already  quoted. 
Now,  in  the  5th  chapter  of  Deuteronomy  arid  at  the  fifteenth  varse, 
Moses  says  the  Lord  commanded  this  observance  because  He  had 
brought  the  tribes  out  of  Egypt.  There  was  always  before  the 
mind  of  the  Jew  the  Eest  of  the  land  of  Canaan,  after  his  toil- 
some wanderings  throughout  the  forty  years,  and  the  constantly 
recurring  Sabbath  was,  to  the  Jew,  an  earnest,  and  pledge,  and 
type  of  that  Eest.  But  in  the  eighth  varse  of  this  fourth  of  He- 
brews the  writer  says  Joshua  did  not  obtain  the  true  Eest,  because 


72  HARWOOD. 

God  afterwards  spoke  of  another  day.  Nothing  could  be  more  clear 
and  explicit  than  this  statement.  Now,  doctor,'7  and  he  produced 
a  little  volume  from  his  pocket,  "  I'll  just  trouble  you  to  read  the 
next  varse — the  ninth.'7 

"The  doctor  took  the  book,  and  stepped  to  the  window.  "  Why, 
it  is  Greek !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Preceesely,"  answered  the  Scot  composedly,  "and- a  verra  fine 
tongue  it  is." 

"  I  am  rather  rusty  in  Greek,  Mr.  Gowrie,"  said  Markham,  "but 
I'll  try.  The  ninth  verse,  fourth  chapter — here  it  is !  Urn,  um !" 

"Ye  need  na'  read  the  Greek,  doctor,  please  translate  into 
English." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  reads  somehow  thus :  *  There  re- 
mains therefore  a  rest  and  a  Sabbath-keeping  to  the  people  of 
God.'" 

"  And  the  next  varse,"  said  Mr.  Gowrie,  "  gives  the  reason.  It  is 
because  Christ  also  has  ceased  from  His  work,  and  entered  into  His 
rest,"  to  wit,  on  "the  first  day  of  the  week,  when  He  arose  from 
the  dead,  preceesely  as  God  ceased  and  rested  on  the  last  day  of  the 
week."  He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  with  great  dignity  continued,  "  it* 
is  easy  to  preach  from  so  clear  a  text  as  this.  If  the  Jew  had  a 
Sabbath,  sanctified  by  the  completion  of  God's  great  work  of  crea 
tion,  surely  the  Christian  has  a  Sabbath,  sanctified  by  the  com- 
pletion of  God's  great  work  of  redemption.  And  I'll  just  add, 
doctor,"  and  he  turned  suddenly  upon  the  medico,  "if  you  will 
take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the  twelfth  chapter  of  the  Acts,  at  the 
fourth  varse,  ye'll  just  find  that  the  writer  there  calls  the  Passover 
Easter.  Your  illustration  was  unfortunate.  Gude  night,  Miss 
Eet,  I  am  verra  much  obliged  to  you  for  listening  so  patiently. 
Gude  night,  gentlemen."  And  chuckling  at  a  great  rate,  he  went 
crunching  on  the  gravel  towards  the  gate.  In  a  moment  he  was 
hidden  by  the  trees,  bat  we  heard  him  once  or  twice  chuckling  in 
high  glee. 

We  all  laughed.  The  discomfited  appearance  of  the  doctor 
was  very  funny,  but  did  not  seem  to  disturb  him  at  all.  He  sat 
there  where  the  Scot  left  him,  meditating.  At  length  he  sighed 
softly. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Burton,"  he  said,  "  any  man  who  tackles 
a  Scotch  Presbyterian  on  Theology  had  better  keep  out  of  reach 
of  the  fool-killer.  I  thought  I  had  him  down,  but  I  hadn't !" 

"  Some  of  Mr.  Gowrie's  positions  are  new  to  me,"  I  answered, 
his  whole  argument  was  tolerably  strong." 


RET.  73 

"  Mr.  Gowrie  is  cue  of  the  most  remarkable  men  I  liave  ever 
met,"  observed  Judge  Oarr ;  "  he  is  very  thoroughly  educated,  and 
has  more  than  once  given  me  from  memory  long  l  quottatious/  as 
he  calls  them,  from  classical  authors,  that  were  perfectly  accurate. 
He  is  also  very  fond  of  lighter  literature,  a  very  severe  critic  of  mod- 
ern poetry,  especially  that  of  Moore  and  Byron,  but  with  sound  judg- 
ment and  rare  taste.  He  is  an  excellent  business  man,  exact  and 
scrupulous  in  all  his  dealings,  seeming  to  take  delight  in  the  dry- 
est  details  of  commercial  affairs.  Once  or  twice  I  have,  for  mere 
amusement,  engaged  him  in  controversy  upon  theological  sub- 
jects, and  I  must  say  that  he  has  always  forced  me  to  believe  that 
his  points  were  well  taken,  and,  in  fact,  impregnable.  He  has  a 
sly  way  of  yielding  points  which  appear  to  be  vital,  and  then 
coming  down  suddenly,  and  with  tremendous  force,  in  an  unex- 
pected quarter.  His  curious  dismissal  of  the  i  Sax  days ?  appears 
to  illustrate  this  peculiar  habit." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Gowrie's  positions,  Mr.  Hubbard  P 
said  Miss  Harwood. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  replied  I,  "  that  his  statements  were  all  per- 
fectly logical.  A  quaint  remark  of  his  just  occurs  to  me.  I  was 
speaking  to  him  this  morning  about  an  infidel  book  that  has  re- 
cently appeared,  entitled  'The  Free  Thinker,7  and  his  comment 
was  i  ay,  ay,  I  hae  perused  yon  book.  The  maist  remarkable  thing 
I  found  in  it  was  the  title.  The  author,  instead  of  being  'free/  is 
in  bondage  to  the  rnaist  extraordinary  ignorance,  and  there  is  no 
sign  in  his  book  of  any  *  thinking '  of  any  sort."  I  turned  to  Char- 
ley and  added,  "  You  may  as  well  abandon  your  flimsy  theories, 
mon  ami,  and  rely  upon  the  immutable  facts  of  an  existent  Deity, 
and  therefore  a  Divine  Eevelation." 

"You  are  taking  for  granted  every  thing  that  you  ought  to 
prove,"  said  Oarr ;  "  the  existence  of  a  Deity,  the  fact  of  a  Divine 
Eevelation,  and " 

"  Oh !  Charley !  Charley !"  Miss  Eet  is  certainly  in  love  with 
my  friend,  I  think,  and  she  is  as  evidently  disgusted  with  what 
he  calls  his  i  free  thinking.7  I  don't  believe,  however,  that  he  is 
settled  in  his  infidel  opinions,  but  rather  suppose  he  talked  for  the 
sake  of  argument.  Fll  have  it  out  with  him  hereafter." 

His  father  interposed  at  this  point : 

•"  We  have  been  waiting  for  this  opportunity,  Mr.  Hubbard,  to 
hear  from  you  an  account  of  your  adventures  last  Sunday,"  he 
said.  "  Charley  tells  me  that  you  did  not  give  him  more  than  the 


74  HARWOOD. 

outlines  of  your  story,  so  if  you  please  we  will  postpone  polemics, 
and  listen  with  great  pleasure  to  your  account  of  the  panther 
hunt.7' 

"  If  you  please,  father,"  said  Charley,  "I  would  like  to  ask  Hub- 
bard  one  question  before  we  change  the  subject.  Why  did  you  go 
on  this  unhallowed  expedition  last  Sunday  ?  I  presume  the  views 
you  have  just  expressed  are  not  altogether  new  to  you  F 

"  I  hardly  know  why  I  did  not  decline  your  invitation  when  it 
was  given.  I  recollect  that  I  offered  some  objection  and  I  think 
you  did  not  give  me  time  to  refuse.  However,  I  had  determined 
to  send  you  a  note  of  apology  by  Jake,  but " 

"  But  what  P  said  Miss  Harwood. 

"  But  my  good  resolutions  vanished  before  the  desire  to  bestride 
your  mare  as  soon  as  I  saw  her.  After  I  once  mounted,  I  confess 
I  did  not  think  much  of  the  day  until  Midnight  and  I  parted 
company." 

"  There !"  said  Charley,  triumphantly,  "  I  said  it  was  all  your 
fault,  Bet,  or  your  mare's  fault,  which  is  the  same  thing.  She  is  a 
dumb  brute  and  not  responsible." 

"  I  want  to  hear  about  the  panther  now,"  replied  Miss  Harwood. 
Her  brother  ceased  whistling,  and  drew  his  chair  up.  I  had  a 
very  attentive  audience.  They  all  listened  with  a  flattering  silence 
while  I  narrated  the  panther  story.  I  tried  to  say  little  about  the 
actual  encounter,  which  was  no  great  shakes  after  all.  The  brute 
must  have  had  some  forty  buckshot  in  his  body  before  I  gave  him 
the  couj)  de  grace.  When  I  finished  the  recital  Carr  observed  that 
my  account  did  not  exactly  agree  with  Mr.  Maltby's.  "  He  said 
that  you  rushed  in  and  knifed  the  brute  while  he  was  still  fighting 
the  dogs." 

"  I  believe  I  did,"  I  answered  $  "  it  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  I 
saw  Music  dash  at  the  panther  and  get  an  ugly  scratch,  and  you 
know  she  is  a  pet  of  yours  and  mine.  I  suppose  I  was  induced 
to  take  an  active  part  in  the  dispute  on  her  account." 

"  Mr.  Maltby  says  he  would  not  have  stood  in  your  shoes  for  the 
best  plantation  in  the  State.  The  panther  was  more  dangerous 
because  wounded,  and  poor  Music  can  testify  that  he  was  not 
quite  so  nearly  dead  as  you  suppose." 

"  Please  tell  me,  Mr.  Hubbard,"  said  Herbert  earnestly,  u  what 
you  thought  when  you  went  in." 

"  I  don't  remember,"  replied  I,  laughing  at  his  earnestness.  "  I 
had  not  much  time  to  think.  I  saw  the  dogs  flying  about,  and 


RET.  73 

when  I  first  got  a  good  view  of  the  panther  he  was  on  his  back, 
fighting  with  all  four  of  his  feet.  As  I  ran  up  a  dog  passed  me 
and  darted  at  his  throat,  and  in  the  struggle  that  followed  he 
turned  over  on  his  side.  I  think  I  put  my  foot  on  his  fore  leg  and 
thrust  the  knife  into  his  body,  just  behind  the  shoulder." 

"  That  was  just  it,"  said  Charley  Carr.  "  Maltby  thinks  it  was 
the  pluckiest  thing  he  ever  saw  or  heard  of.  It  is  curious,  by -the 
bye,  what  became  of  the  beast.  Maltby  went  with  one  of  his  boys 
in  the  afternoon  to  skin  him,  but  could  not  find  hide  or  hair.  Old 
Misty  could  not  be  found  either,  nor  has  he  been  seen  since  Sun- 
day." 

a  There  was  a  person  with  Mr.  Maltby  on  Sunday,"  said  I, 
"  called  Captain  Delauey,  I  think " 

"  Delaney !"  said  Miss  Harwood,  with  a  start. 

"  Yes  5  at  least  the  Indian  told  me  that  was  his  name.  I  men- 
tioned his  because  I  wished  to  know  if  any  of  you  could  tell  me 
anything  about  him." 

"  Captain  Delaney  lives  in  New  Orleans,"  said  Mr.  Carr.  "  He 
comes  to  this  parish  occasionally.  When  he  is  in  this  neighbour- 
hood he  stays  at  Mr.  Maltby's.  I  think  he  is  related  to  Mrs. 
Maltby." 

"  Is  he  in  the  army,  sir  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  No — that  is,  he  was  a  captain  of  volunteers  in  the  Florida  war, 
and  he  still  retains  the  title.  At  present  he  is  a 

"  A  sportsman,"  said  Charley,  when  his  father  paused,  as  if  he 
were  hunting  for  a  word  to  describe  the  sleek  gentleman's  occu- 
pation. "  Sportsman  "  in  this  latitude  means  simply  a  gambler. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  a  gentleman  of  leisure,"  continued  Mr. 
Carr.  "  He  seems  to  have  plenty  of  money  always.  Charles  calls 
him  a  i  sportsman,7 1  suppose,  because  he  plays  for  money,  but  I 
think  he  has  never  been  suspected  of  unfairness.  Most  of  the 
gentlemen  in  this  vicinity  have  played  with  him,  and  though  he 
generally  wins,  his  good  fortune  is  attributed  to  his  superior  luck, 
or  skill,  or  both  together." 

Here  the  doctor  started  up,  saying  he  must  "  be  off."  Jake 
brought  his  horse  to  the  step,  and  after  he  had  deliberated  some 
five  minutes,  he  finally  made  up  his  mind  to  put  his  left  foot  in 
the  stirrup.  He  mounted  while  he  was  making  his  farewell 
speech. 

"  Do  you  keep  yourself  quiet  for  a  day  or  two  longer  and  you 
shall  have  your  fiddle  again.  You  had  better  get  Burton  here  to 


76  HA  E  WOOD. 

give  you  some  lessons.  He  plays  like  tlie  witches !  Good  evening. 
Never  mind  the  gate,  Jake.  Mr.  Hubbard  will  open  it  for  me. 
Come,  Burton,  walk  down  to  the  gate ;  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

As  soon  as  we  got  out  of  earshot  of  the  occupants  of  the  porch, 
the  doctor,  who  is  very  thoughtful  and  considerate,  began : 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say  to  you,  Hubbard,  that  you  must  not 
allow  yourself  to  admire  Miss  Eet  too  much.  She  is  mortgaged 
to  our  friend  Charley,  I  suspect." 

"  Much  obliged  for  the  warning,  doctor,"  replied  I,  laughing, 
although  I  felt  rather  provoked,  "  but  there  is  not  the  slightest 
danger  in  my  case." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  Burton.  She  is  the  finest  girl  in  this 
State,  or  in  any  other,  that  I  know  of." 

u  No  doubt.    Nevertheless  I  am  safe  enough. 

"  The  devil  you  are !  D'ye  mean  that  your  young  affections  are 
already  placed  ?" 

"  Yes — upon  myself.  I  am  not  young  enough  to  fall  in  love 
with  the  first  pretty  girl  I  see.  Besides,  Miss  Eet  is  not  so  re- 
markably beautiful.  Oh,  please  tell  me  what  there  was  about 
my  question  that  was  mat  apropos.  I  mean,  when  I  inquired  how 
old  Midnight  was." 

"  Nothing  amiss  on  your  part.  The  mare  was  foaled  on  the 
night  that  Mr.  Harwood died.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  to-mor- 
row. Here's  the  gate.  I  advise  you  to  go  back  by  that  walk  to 
the  left.  I  hate  to  be  crunching  over  gravel  when  I  can  get  on 
the  soft  grass.  Good  night." 

I  turned  off  the  carriage  road  as  the  doctor  advised  and  pres- 
ently came  to  a  beautiful  little  bower,  covering  a  rustic  seat.  I 
sat  down  here  and  puffed  at  my  cigar,  thinking  over  all  the  mat- 
ters I  have  been  scrawling  down  here.  It  is  probable  that  the 
time  slipped  away  faster  than  I  imagined  while  I  was  indulging 
in  my  "  maiden  meditations,  fancy  free."  At  last  I  threw  away 
the  stump  of  my  cigar  and  was  about  to  resume  my  walk  when  I 
heard  footsteps  on  the  carriage  road,  which  was  near  the  path, 
and  as  they  drew  nearer  I  heard  Miss  Harwood's  voice.  She  has, 
a  remarkably  sweet  voice,  and  I  paused  to  listen. 

"  The  doctor  calls  him  Burton,"  she  said. 

"  That's  not  his  name,  though,"  said  Charley  Carr.  "  Stop,  1 
have  a  note  from  him  in  my  pocket  now.  I  can  read  it  by  moon- 
light." He  fumblecj  in  his  pocket  and  I  heard  the  rustling  of  the 
paper.  "  It  is  signed  i  H.  H.,'"  said  Carr,  in  a  tone  of  vexation. 


RET.  77 

" l  H.'  does  not  stand  for  <  Burton,' "  said  Miss  Eet. 
"  It  must  be  <  Henry,' "  observed  Carr. 

"  Maybe  it's  '  Herbert/  "  said  my  namesake,  and  then  the  young 
rascal  began  to  hum — 

"  Old  Mother  Hubbard, 
She  lived  in  a  cupboard." 

"  Hush !"  said  his  sister,  "  he  might  hear  you  and  perhaps  he 
would  not  like  it.  I  think  he  must  be  a  namesake  of  mine, 
brother ;  your  name  is  not  very  common." 

"  I  shall  call  myself  '  Henry'  hereafter,  anyhow,"  said  I,  advan- 
cing ;  "  Miss  Harwood  has  not  left  me  a  choice." 

They  all  laughed,  though  I  thought  the  young  lady  was  some- 
what embarrassed,  as  she  observed, 

"  We  did  not  know  you  were  so  near." 

"  The  doctor  recommended  the  walk  to  me,  and  I  was  tempted 
by  the  beauty  of  this  arbour  to  rest  while  I  finished  my  cigar.  I 
have  overheard  very  little  of  your  conversation.  Dr.  Markham 
calls  me  <  Burton'  sometimes,  because  we  both  admire  an  author  of 
that  name." 

"  I  can  very  easily  find  out  Hubbard's  Christian  name,"  said 
Charley,  "  as  some  of  the  Carrville  people  will  know  it." 

"Very  well,"  replied  I;  "in  the  meantime  I  am  to  remain  Henry 
Hubbard,  at  your  service." 

"  Your  initials  are  the  same  as  mine,  Mr.  Hubbard,"  said  Her- 
bert, "  and  Bet's  too.  Isn't  that  funny  F 

"  Yes.  But  I  know  something  still  more  unaccountable ;  and 
that  is,  that  I  am  acquainted  with  a  Baltimorean  whose  name  is 
precisely  identical  with  yours." 

"  Herbert  Harwood  !"  exclaimed  all  three. 

I  watched  them  to  see  what  effect  the  announcement  would 
produce.  Carr  and  Herbert  expressed  nothing  but  surprise,  while 
Miss  Harwood  appeared  to  be  discomposed.  Maybe  this  was  only 
my  fancy.  But  she  said  immediately — "we  are  keeping  Mr. 
Hubbard  standing  all  this  time.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  house." 
Charley  and  her  brother  walked  on  ahead,  and  I  had  the  honour 
of  walking  by  Miss  Bet's  side.  I  think  she  lagged  a  little  be- 
hind purposely,  to  say  to  me,  "  At  another  time  I  will  be  much 
obliged  to  you  for  a  fuller  account  of your  Baltimore  ac- 
quaintance. It  is  possible  that  Herbert  and  I  may  have  relations 
there  of  whom  we  know  nothing,  or  very  little." 

I  made  no  reply  to  this.    I  thought  once  or  twice  of  bolting  out 


7-5  EARWOOD. 

the  secret  of  my  identity  with  these  possible  "  relations,"  but  there 
was  some  inflexion  in  her  voice,  or  something  in  her  manner,  that 
kept  me  silent.  It's  of  no  use  for  me  to  try  to  say  what  it  was. 
I  don't  know.  But  I  will  know,  if  it  pleases  heaven! 

Ten  o'clock  came  pretty  soon.  Charley  escorted  me  to  my  sleep- 
ing apartment,  in  which  everything  was  nice  and  comfortable,  and 
left  me,  wishing  me  "  pleasant  dreams !"  I  hunted  for  the  dreams 
till  midnight,  and  then  got  up  and  dressed.  My  room  opened  on 
the  second  story  of  the  verandah,  and  I  spent  most  of  the  night 
sitting  at  the  window  and  on  the  door-sill,  smoking,  wondering, 
dreaming  perhaps,  but  not  sleeping.  I  left  this  morning  before 
anybody  was  up  except  Jake,  who  got  my  horse  for  me. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 
HERBERT. 

THURSDAY,  May  13, 1836. 

I  HAVE  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  Miss  Harwood  to- 
day, and  trying  to  recall  all  that  I  hav  e  ever  heard  about  my 
father's  family.  I  think  there  must  be  some  relationship  between 
this  young  lady  and  myself,  as  I  cannot  otherwise  account  for  the 
interest  I  take  in  her  and  all  belonging  to  her.  It  would  be  quite 
absurd  to  suppose  that  the  short  time  I  spent  in  her  society  was 
long  enough  to  create  any  special — I  was  going  to  say — regard, 
independently  of  an  instinctive  recognition  of  Kinship,  if  there  is 
such  a  word.  It  may,  and  probably  will  turn  out  that  I  am  her 
forty-seventh  cousin — that  is  always  supposing  my — friendly  feel- 
ing to  be  the  result  of  a  blood  relationship,  recognized  by  me 
through  some  mysterious  faculty  of  the  mind.  In  that  case,  how- 
ever, the — liking,  if  I  may  so  call  it— ought  to  be  mutual,  and  I 
am  bound  to  confess  that  I  cannot  remember  that  she  gave  any 
evidence  that  way  5  though  I  think  I  remember  all  her  looks  and 
words.  I  have  not  much  to  record  as  the  events  of  to-day.  If 
Mr.  White  had  returned  I  should  have  had  some  talk  with  him 
about  the  matter.  I  don't  know  now  whether  I  had  better  tell 
him  about  my  change  of  name  or  not.  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Mother 
about  it  to-day  and  tore  it  up  afterwards.  I  don't  know  what  to 


HERBERT.  79 

think  about  an  engagement  between  her  and  Charley  Carr.  While 
she  appears  to  be  devotedly  attached  to  him,  I  could  not  see  any 
tokens  of  very  flaming  love  on  his  part.  It  would  be  truly  hor- 
rible for  such  a  girl  as  she  is  to  marry  a  man  who  did  not  half 
love  her !  But  what  business  is  it  of  mine  $  I'll  quit  writing  on 
the  subject. 

I  have  been  in  the  post-office  all  day.  There  are  not  many  ap- 
plicants for  letters  here,  except  on  the  day  after  the  mail  arrives, 
so  I  have  been  uninterrupted  most  of  the  day.  At  dinner  at  the 
hotel  I  noticed  a  stranger  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  and 
intended  to  look  at  the  register  to  ascertain  who  he  was  and  where 
he  was  from.  He  is  a  slight,  pale  young  man,  a  little  bald,  wears 
near-sighted  spectacles,  and  looks  as  if  he  had  burned  any  quantity 
of  midnight  oil.  I  forgot  about  the  register  when  I  came  out, 
and  was  seated  behind  the  counter  in  the  post-office  smoking  my 
after-dinner  cigar,  when  the  stranger  entered  the  office. 

"  Is  there  a  letter  for  t  Hamilton  f  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  sir !"  replied  I,  going  to  the  letter  box  and  selecting  it.  It 
was  addressed  to  "  the  Eev.  Philip  Hamilton,  Carrville,  La." 

"You  have  a  good  memory,  sir,"  he  observed  politely.  He 
opened  the  letter,  read  it  rapidly  and  then  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  remembered  your  letter,  sir,"  said  I,  when  he  had  got  through 
with  it,  "  because  it  had  the  Baltimore  post  mark."  He  was  turn- 
ing away  as  I  spoke,  but  came  back  immediately. 

"  Ah !"  he  said,  with  considerable  interest.  "  Are  you  from  that 
city  P 

"  Yes  sir,  it  is  my  birth-place." 

"  The  hotel  keeper  told  me  you  were  Mr.  Hubbard ;"  here  he 
bowed.  "  I  asked  your  name,  because  I  fancied  that  I  saw  in  your 

face  a  resemblance  to some  one  I  have  met  in  Baltimore  ;— 

perhaps  a  relation  of  yours  P 

"  I  have  a  Mother  and  two  sisters  there,  sir,  and  no  other  kind- 
red that  I  know." 

"  Ah !  then  I  must  have  fancied  a  likeness.    Good  afternoon,  sir." 

"  Won't  you  walk  in  and  take  a  smoke  with  me?"  said  I.  "I 
can't  invite  you  into  the  post-office ;  but  if  you  will  step  into  the 
street  and  come  in  at  the  door  at  the  right,  we  can  fumigate  the 
whole  of  the  adjoining  house." 

•<'  Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind."  So  he  came  in.  I  gave  him 
one  of  my  regalias,  and  we  were  soon  puffing  away  in  the  empty 
store  room. 


80  HARWOOD. 

I  found  my  new  acquaintance  very  entertaining.  He  is  very 
fond  of  a  joke,  and  cracks  a  good  many  himself.  Most  of  the 
preachers  that  I  have  known  have  been  so  grave  and  solemn  that 
I  have  always  fought  shy  of  their  society.  Mr.  Hamilton  asked 
me  some  questions  about  Baltimore ;  said  he  had  been  there  within 
a  month,  though  he  knew  very  little  about  the  people.  He  preached 
twice  in  one  of  the  churches  there,  Doctor  Kevins',  I  believe,  and 
had  become  a  little  acquainted  with  some  of  the  members  of  that 
congregation.  He  is  going  to  preach  in  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
in  Carrville,  on  the  next  Sabbath,  and  I  intend  to  go  hear  him.  He 
knows  everything,  and  I  hope  we  shall  be  good  friends. 

This  evening,  after  tea,  I  went  into  the  playing  room  at  the 
hotel,  and  saw  Mr.  Maltby  and  Mr.  Carr  playing  a  game  called 
euchre,  with  Captain  Delaney  and  an  ugly  fellow  that  I  have  seen 
in  town  two  or  three  times.  I  have  heard  that  he  is  an  overseer 
on  some  plantation  in  the  neighbourhood.  His  name  is  Beckett.  I 
spoke  to  Maltby  and  Mr.  Carr,  but  did  not  notice  the  others.  They 
seemed  to  be  playing  a  pretty  high  game ;  that  is,  Mr.  Carr  and 
Delaney  were  betting  ten  dollars  a  game.  I  only  staid  a  short 
time.  The  game  is  somewhat  like  whist ;  the  best  cards,  however, 
are  the  knaves  of  trumps,  and  of  the  other  suit  of  the  same  colour. 
I  did  not  like  to  see  old  Mr.  Carr  gambling,  though  almost  every- 
body out  here  does  it.  They  did  not  keep  the  play  up  very  late, 
as  I  saw  Mr.  Carr,  Maltby  and  Beckett,  riding  out  of  town  an 
hour  or  two  ago.  This  was  the  first  sight  of  Delaney  that  I  have 
had  since  last  Sunday.  I  heard  him  say  that  he  was  going  to 
New  Orleans  to-morrow.  I  hope  he  will  stay  there. 

FRIDAY,  May  14, 1836. 

Ah,  me !  Let  me  recount  things  in  order.  First,  the  mail  last 
night  brought  a  letter  for  "  Judge  Carr."  It  was  postmarked  New 
York,  and  had  come  u  by  express  mail,  postage  seventy-five  cents, 
prepaid."  Next,  Charley  came  in  this  morning,  and  went  on  to 
New  Orleans  in  a  transient  steamboat.  By-the-bye,  Delaney  went 
in  the  same  boat.  I  showed  the  letter  to  Charley,  who  requested 
me  to  send  it  out  to  Manahio,  if  opportunity  offered,  or  if  none 
presented,  and,  if  "  I  would  be  so  kind,"  to  ride  his  horse  out, 
with  the  letter,  in  the  afternoon.  We  both  concluded  that  the 
letter  was  important,  as  it  had  come  out  of  the  ordinary  course. 
Third :  Mr.  White  returned  last  night,  and  took  possession  of  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Hamilton,  moving  him,  bag  and  baggage,  from  the 


HEEBERT.  81 

hotel  to  his  pretty  cottage.  After  dinner  they  both  came  in,  and 
when  I  told  Mr.  White  about  the  letter,  he  said  he  would  remain 
in  the  office  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  if  I  would  like  the  ride,  I  had 
better  act  upon  Charley's  suggestion.  So  I  found  myself,  early  in 
the  afternoon,  on  the  banks  of  the  creek  and  near  the  haunted 
laurels. 

This  was  the  first  time,  since  I  heard  the  legend,  that  I  had  the 
chance  to  take  a  near  look  at  this  locality,  so  I  turned  off  from  the 
road,  and  pushing  through  the  undergrowth,  I  reached  the  trunks 
of  the  big  trees.  They  stand  near  the  bank  of  the  creek,  in  a 
triangle,  the  sides  of  which  are  probably  eight  or  ten  yards  long. 
My  first  thought,  after  I  had  fastened  the  horse  to  a  swinging 
branch  and  dismounted,  was,  that  the  little  area  would  be  a  splen- 
did place  for  a  quiet  duel.  The  ground  is  level  and  smooth,  and 
the  bushes,  which  were  thick  enough  outside  of  the  trees7  shadow, 
would  conceal  the  combatants  effectually.  I  looked  in  vain  for 
some  traces  of  the  tragedy  which  had  been  enacted  on  this  spot  ; 
but  it  is  probable  that  time  has  effaced  such  dismal  memorials,  if 
they  were  visible  five  years  ago.  It  was  here,  too,  that  John  Har- 
wood  died  his  mysterious  death,  and  I  felt  the  old  melancholy 
feeling  coming  over  me,  which  took  possession  of  me,  and  kept  me 
awake  the  other  night.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  not  be  affected 
by  the  sad  countenance  of  his  orphan  daughter,  and  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  own  that  I  am  affected,  whenever  I  think  of  her  (which 
is  pretty  nearly  all  the  time).  The  thing  that  plagues  me  most  is 
the  conviction  that  Charley  don't  appreciate  her,  and,  therefore, 
will  never  be  able  to  comfort  her — bah !  what  a  dreadful  ninny  I 
must  be ! 

The  day  was  hot,  and  I  took  off  my  coat  and  vest,  half  disposed 
to  take  a  bath  in  the  creek.  While  I  was  thinking  about  it  I  heard 
a  horse  neigh,  and  presently  I  heard  the  tramp  of  his  hoofs.  My 
horse  neighed  in  reply,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  a  Spanish  pony 
poked  his  way  through  the  bushes,  bringing  on  his  back  no  less 
a  personage  than  Master  Herbert  Harwood. 

"  Hello !  Mr.  Hubbard !  Why,  what  the  dickens  are  you  doing 
here  P 

"That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  replied  I,  shaking 
his  hand.  He  slipped  down  from  the  saddle,  and  throwing  the 
stirrups  over  the  cantle,  he  let  the  pony  go,  saying :  "  Here's  some 
elegant  grass,  Dick,  and  you  may  eat  your  belly  full.  I  never 
hitch  Dick;  he  always  stays  where  I  leave  him.  I  have  to  turn 

6 


82  HAEWOOD. 

the  stirrups  over,  though,  for  once  he  tried  to  get  on  himself;  at 
least,  I  found  him  with  his  hind  foot  in  the  stirrup.  I  ain  going 
to  bathe  in  here,  please ;  so  are  you,  ain't  you  f  That's  jolly !  Pve 
got  two  towels."  By  the  time  he  had  got  thus  far,  he  had  wriggled 
himself  out  of  his  coat,  and  was  fumbling  at  his  collar-button  with 
his  left  hand.  I  perceived  that  his  right  arm  was  not  of  much  use 
to  him,  though  he  had  gotten  rid  of  the  sling. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  I,  unfastening  his  button. 

"  Thank  ?ee !  My  arm  hurts  me  a  little,  and  the  doctor  says  I 
must  not  use  it  much,  yet  awhile.  Now,  sir  ;  please  pull  my  shirt 
right  over  my  head !  Thank  'ee !  I  can  manage  the  rest.  Boots 
and  trousers  come  off  together,  you  see !  Why  don't  you  un  dress  ?r 

He  slipped  off  his  drawers  and  stockings,  and  waded  out  into 
the  stream,  and  was  pretty  soon  up  to  his  neck.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  swim,  but  wading  back  towards  the  bank,  he  crawled 
up  on  a  log,  one  end  of  which  was  resting  on  the  shore.  It 
gradually  sank  with  his  weight,  until  only  his  head  was  visible 
above  the  water.  I  was  getting  out  of  my  boots  when  he  recom- 
menced his  harangue. 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Hubbard  !  You  know  Jake  went  in  after  Midnight 
the  other  morning  1  I  mean  the  day  after  you  were  out  at  Man- 
ahioP 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  he  found  she  was  hard  to  lead,  so  he  got  on  her  back, 
and  she  gave  him  an  awful  hyste !" 

"  Was  he  hurt  ?"  I  asked.  He  made  no  reply,  but  I  heard  him 
splashing  in  the  water.  I  had  my  back  towards  him,  and  was 
tugging  at  my  last  stocking,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me 
that  he  had  slipped  off  the  log.  I  ran  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
creek,  saw  the  log  bobbing  up  and  down,  but  the  boy  had  dis- 
appeared !  I  was  stripped,  with  the  exception  of  my  drawers, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  I  plunged  into  the  stream.  As 
soon  as  I  got  into  the  current  I  allowed  my  body  to  float  with  it, 
diving  whenever  the  water  was  too  deep  for  me  to  see  the  bottom. 
The  laurels  stood  in  a  little  cove,  and  there  is  a  strong  eddy  just 
along  the  bank;  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  the  creek  is  deeper 
there  than  at  the  ford.  It  is  probable  that  Herbert  was  carried 
back,  up  the  stream,  by  this  return  current,  as  I  found,  after  I  had 
floated  and  swam  twenty  or  thirty  yards  from  the  log,  that  the 
creek  was  too  shoal  for  his  body  to  get  lower  down.  Accord- 
ingly I  put  forth  all  my  vigour,  swimming  along  the  bank,  until 


HERBERT.  83 

at  last  I  saw  his  arm,  and  then  his  white  body  above  the  surface 
for  an  instant,  near  the  spot  where  I  at  first  entered  the  water. 
In  another  minute  his  arm  was  around  my  neck,  nearly  choking 
me,  and  I  was  half  swimming  and  half  crawling  towards  the  bank. 
I  scrambled  up  somehow,  and  laid  him  down  on  the  grass.  He 
was  not  entirely  insensible,  though  he  still  clutched  me  round  the 
neck,  and  I  had  some  trouble  to  get  rid  of  his  convulsive  grasp. 
Altogether,  I  was  pretty  well  used  up.  However,  I  began  to  rub 
him  vigorously  with  a  towel,  trying  to  remember  what  was  the 
proper  treatment  for  half  drowned  people.  He  muttered  some- 
thing about  "  hurting  his  arm,"  and  I  propped  him  up  in  a  sitting 
posture,  handling  him  as  tenderly  as  I  could.  Gradually  a  little 
colour  came  into  his  cheeks  and  light  into  his  eyes.  He  had  not 
been  three  minutes  in  the  water. 

"I  say!"  he  began,  after  looking  all  round — "  at  sun  and  stream 
and  plain" — as  if  he  were  trying  to  decide  where  he  was — "  I  say, 
why  didn't  you  come  when  I  called  you  ?" 

"  You  must  have  called  me  while  you  were  under  the  water,  old 
fellow.  How  came  you  to  get  under  1  I  saw  you  wading  just 
before  you  disappeared." 

"I  slipped  off  the  log  yonder,  and  it  struck  me  on  my  lame 
arm,  and  then  I  kept  falling  down,  down,  till  the  current  caught 
me.  But  I  thought  I  called  you  to  help  me." 

"  I  thought  you  were  astride  of  the  log  until  I  looked  for  you, 
and  when  I  found  you  were  not,  I  jumped  in,  and  have  been  as 
far  as  the  ripple  and  back  again.  I  found  you  at  last  close  by  the 
bank." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Herbert,  "I've  been  drownded!" 

"  Not  quite,"  replied  I,  laughing,  "  but  you  were  not  very  far 
from  it.  Can't  you  swim  f 

"  Yes,  a  little,  but  my  arm  hurt  me  so  !  I  say !"  he  continued, 
his  lips  quivering  and  the  tears  springing  to  his  eyes — "  I  say, 
you  have  saved  my  life !" 

"  Maybe  so,  but  never  mind  that.    How  do  you  feel  now  F 

il  Oh,  I'm  all  right  now,  only  a  little  weak.  Would  you  mind 
helping  me  dress  ?  Thank'ee !  But  I'll  dip  myself  in  the  water 
first.  I've  gone  and  muddied  my  legs !" 

While  he  was  performing  his  ablutions  I  took  off  my  drawers, 
and  wringing  them  out,  hung  them  on  a  bush  in  the  sun.  They 
were  nearly  dry  by  the  time  I  had  got  him  dressed.  His  tongue 
seemed  to  be  the  only  member  that  had  not  lost  its  usual  vigour, 
as  he  talked  incessantly. 


84  EAEWOOD. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Hubbard !  honour  bright !  didn't  you  hear  me 
sing  anything  while  I  was  in  the  water  V9 

"  Not  a  note." 

«  Not  <  Old  Mother* "— he  paused. 

" *  Old  Mother  Hubbard,  she  lived  in  a  cupboard  f  "  replied  I. 
"  I  heard  you  sing  that  the  other  night." 

"  Did  you  mind  it  ?    Ret  gave  me  fits  about  it" 

"  Of  course  I  didn't,"  I  replied,  li  you  may  sing  it  to  me  as 
often  as  you  like." 

"  That's  a  jolly  good  fellow  !"  and  here  he  insisted  upon  shak- 
ing my  hand  while  I  was  trying  to  get  his  shirt  over  his  head. 
"  Well,  I  thought  I  sung  that  while  I  was  in  the  creek.  It's  a 
dog  on  ugly  name  though,  ain't  it  f ' 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  another  name  and " 

"  May  I  call  you  Harry  f  he  shouted,  "  oh,  that's  prime !  but 
you  are  such  a  big  fellow  that  it  don't  seem  polite.  S'pose  I  call 
you  cousin  Harry  ?" 

"  That's  the  very  thing,"  answered  I,  poking  his  arm  into  his 
shirt  sleeve,  "  and  I'll  call  you  Cousin  Herbert." 

"  Will  you  I  Oh,  ain't  that  jolly  f  and  he  pulled  his  arm  out 
to  shake  hands  again.  "  Well,  I  call  Charley  Carr  '  Cousin  Char- 
ley,' and  he's  not  my  cousin,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  5  I  thought  Mr.  Carr  was  your  uncle." 

"  No,  he  ain't  ;  no  relation  at  all.  He  is  guardian  for  me  and 
Ret.  We've  always  called  him  uncle,  but  he  ain't." 

"  Well,  now,  do  you  hold  still  till  I  get  you  dressed,  and  we  can 
talk  as  we  ride.  I  am  going  to  Manahio  with  you." 

"  Just  shake  hands  once  more,  Cousin  Harry.  Thank  'ee !  now 
I'll  be  still  as  a  mouse."  He  kept  his  word,  and  we  were  soon 
dressed.  As  we  rode  along  the  beautiful  shady  road,  which  I  be- 
lieve I've  mentioned  before,  my  new  cousin  did  an  immense  amount 
of  talking,  and  I  learned  from  him  many  things  that  I  have  been 
wanting  to  know.  I  avoided  asking  him  about  his  family,  be- 
cause I  intended  to  get  the  information  I  wanted  on  that  point 
from  his  sister,  if  I  ever  had  an  opportunity.  This  opportunity 
arrived  sooner  than  I  expected  or  hoped.  When  we  reached  Mr. 
Carr's  house  I  saw  Midnight  in  Jake's  custody,  with  a  side  sad- 
dle on  her  sleek  back. 

Mr.  Carr  came  out  on  the  gallery,  welcomed  me  very  politely, 
and  expressed  his  acknowledgments  for  "  my  kindness  "  in  bring- 
ing the  letter.  After  he  had  read  it,  I  proposed  taking  his  reply* 


EEEBEET.  85 

back  with  me,  as  I  could  send  it  to  New  Orleans  by  this  evening's 
boat  and  it  could  go  by  express  mail  immediately,  from  the  city. 
His  answer  to  this  offer  was,  "that  the  letter  could  only  be  an- 
swered in  person,  and  it  was  doubtful  whether  the  matter  was  of 
sufficient  importance  to  warrant  a  journey  to  New  York."  Her- 
bert had  vanished  into  the  house,  and  now  reappeared  with  his 
beautiful  sister,  who  was  dressed  in  a  riding  habit.  She  walked 
straight  up  to  me,  as  if  she  were  about  to  knock  me  down,  and 
holding  out  her  little  white  hand,  which  I  took  clumsily  enough, 
she  said — 

"  Oh,  Uncle !  Herbert  would  have  been  drowned  if  Mr.  Hub- 
bard  had  not  saved  him !"  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  and  her 
voice. 

"How!  what!  when?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Carr,  with  astonishment. 

"  I  was  taking  a  swim,  sir,"  said  Master  Herbert,  "  and  I  slip- 
ped off  a  log,  and  hurt  my  arm,  and  then  I  suppose  I  fainted; 
anyhow,  cousin  Harry  had  to  swim  ever  so  far  before  he  found 
me." 

"  Your  cousin  Harry  !"  said  Mr.  Carr,  "  what  cousin  Harry?" 

"  I  believe  that  is  to  be  my  title,  henceforth,  sir,"  said  I.  "  Since 
I  had  the  good  fortune  to  pull  Herbert  out  of  the  Mauahio,  he 
has  been  looking  out  for  a  name  for  me,  and  I  am  very  well  satis- 
fied with  the  one  he  has  chosen."  All  this  time  I  was  holding  Miss 
Bet's  hand,  like  a  booby.  I  suppose  I  looked  at  her  with  a  very 
warm,  cousinly  glance,  and  perhaps  I  squeezed  her  little  hand.  I 
daresay ;  I  was  mad  enough  to  do  anything,  for  she  was  looking  at 
me  with  her  big  brown  eyes,  in  which  the  tear-drops  still  glittered 
— anyhow,  she  drew  her  hand  away,  and  I  think  she  blushed — a 
little. 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  me  how  all  this  happened,"  said  Mr. 
Carr,  looking  alternately  at  me  and  Herbert ;  "  how  did  it  chance 
that  Mr.  Hubbard  found  your  bathing  place  ?" 

"  I  was  already  there,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  Where  ?" 

"  At  the  Haunted  Laurels." 

"  The  Laurels !"  said  Mr.  Carr,  staggering  back  as  if  he  had 
been  shot.  Miss  Harwood  ran  to  him,  as  he  sank  into  a  chair, 
and  I  kept  on  talking,  hoping  they  would  all  think  that  I  had  not 
noticed  his  extraordinary  agitation. 

"  Herbert  would  have  been  in  no  danger,  sir,  if  he  had  not  hurt 
his  arm.  I  think  you  had  better  prohibit  similar  excursions  until 


86  HAEWOOD. 

he  gets  over  his  escapade  with  Midnight.  By-the-bye,  Miss  Har- 
wood,  you  are  going  to  ride  her  this  afternoon  1" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  was  going  to  Harwood  with  a  message  from  uncle. 
But  it  will  answer  as  well  to-morrow;  won't  it,  uncle  P 

"  Yes,  yes,  replied  her  guardian — "  put  the  mare  away,  Jake, 
and  Mr.  Charles's  horse,  also — Mr.  Hubbard  will  stay  with  us  this 
evening." 

"  Don't  postpone  your  ride  on  my  account,"  said  I,  rising,  "  but 
rather  allow  me  to  ride  with  you — that  is,  if  you  are  going  towards 
town.  I  have  to  be  there  this  evening  to  attend  to  mail  business, 
otherwise  I  should  be  too  happy  to  remain." 

"Are  you  well  enough  for  me  to  leave  you,  brother  P 

11  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  answered  he,  swaggering  about  the  gallery, 
"  only  I  want  the  sling  again." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  go,  if  you  are  ready,  sir,"  to  me.  "  Jake, 
bring  the  horses."  And  a  few  minutes  later  we  were  pacing 
down  the  drive,  Jake  following  at  a  respectful  distance.  He  was 
gorgeously  attired,  and  had  a  livery  band  around  his  hat,  and 
seemed  proud  of  the  honor  of  attending  upon  his  future  young 
mistress.  We  passed  out  of  the  gate  and  I  waited  for  her  to  say 
something  that  would  lead  to  the  questions  I  wanted  to  ask  her. 
As  we  came  in  sight  of  the  creek  I  inquired  about  the  depth  of  the 
water. 

"The  stream  is  fordable  in  many  places,"  she  replied ;  "  there 
are  some  deep  places  which  they  call  'pools,'  but  I  think  they 
are  two  or  three  miles  lower  down,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
stream." 

"It  is  deep  at  the — the  place  where  your  brother  was  bathing." 

"  You  mean  at  the  Laurels  ;  yes,  I  have  heard  that  it  was  deeper 
there.  How  did  it  happen  that  you  were  there  to-day  f 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  Manahio,  with  a  letter  for  Mr.  Oarr,  and 
turned  off  to  look  at  the  trees.  I  was  resting  under  their  shade 
when  your  brother  came." 

"  Herbert  says  you  risked  your  life  to  save  his !  Oh,  Mr.  Hub- 
bard,  I  have  not  much  left  to  live  for,  and  if  my  brother  had  died 
there  to-day,  I  think  I  should  have  died  too !" 

"  I  don't  deny  that  I  was  instrumental  in  saving  his  life,  but  I 
ran  no  risk.  I  can  swim  across  the  Mississippi.  You  need  not 
look  so  gratefully  at  me.  The  gratitude  is  due  elsewhere.  If  I 
had  not  been  drawn  to  the  spot,  by  what  seemed  only  idle  curios- 
ity, but  which  both  you  and  I  know  was  direct  and  special  Provi- 


HERBERT.  87 

dence — Herbert  would  have  been  drowned."  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  we  rode  on  in  silence.  After  a  time  I 
said :  "  You  implied,  the  other  night,  that  you  would  tell  me 
something  about  the  Baltimore  Harwoods,  or  rather  that  you  would 
ask  me  some  questions  about  them." 

"  Oh  yes.  Do  you  know  them  well  I  How  many  are  there  of 
them?" 

"  I  know  them  very  intimately.  There  are  four  persons  only  in 
the  family — Mrs.  Harwood,  Miss  Alice,  Miss  Grace  and  Mr.  Her- 
bert. I  know  they  have  no  relations — at  least  not  on  this  side  of 
the  ocean." 

"Alice!  Herbert!"  she  exclaimed,  "and  the  family  of  Eng- 
lish origin  f ' 

"  Yes,  then*  immediate  ancestors  were  English." 

il  Do  they  resemble  us  I    I  mean  me  or  my  brother  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  they  do.  And  yet,  when  you  smile,  you  do 
look  like  dear  Grace." 

"  '  Dear  Grace  !'  Oh,  indeed !  Mr.  Hubbard !  I  perceive  now 
why  you  were  so  eager  to  talk  about  your  Baltimore  friends.  Like 
me,  is  she  f  I  take  that  for  a  compliment,  anyhow.  She  must  be 
particularly  lovely  in  your  eyes !" 

"You are  entirely  mistaken,"  I  stammered. 

"  Come,  sir !"  she  said,  still  laughing  merrily,  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  are  not  in  love  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am,"  I  answered,  and  I  believe  I  groaned. 

"Well,  don't  distress  yourself,  I  won't  pursue  the  subject,  Mr. 
Hubbard." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  Mr.  Hubbard !"  I  exclaimed  pet- 
ulantly. 

"  I  think  I  might  follow  Herbert's  example,  and  call  you  Cousin 
Harry,  if  you  like  that  better.  I  am.  beginning  to  Relieve  that 
your  friends  are  truly  cousins  of  mine,  and  I  would  only  be  antici- 
pating a  little  if  I  gave  you  that  relationship."  All  this  was  said 
in  a  gay  tone,  very  different  from  her  usual  manner.  The  ride 
must  have  put  her  in  good  spirits. 

"  If  you  will  honour  me  so  much,  Miss  Harwood,  I  will  be  ex- 
tremely grateful."  She  looked  surprised,  and  I  continued,  "  You 
don't  know  how  I  hate  to  be  called  Hubbard,  but  I  will  tell  you 
the  next  time  I  see  you — that  is — I  think  I  will.  And  now,  if  you 
will  explain  to  me  the  possible  relationship  between  you  and — my 
friends  in  Baltimore,  you  will  confer  a  great  favour  upon  me.  I 


88  HARWOOD. 

have  powerful  reasons — I  might  say  I  have  a  right  to  know  all  you 
eaii  tell  me." 

We  had  by  this  time  arrived  at  a  fork  in  the  carriage  road,  one 
branch  of  which  is  the  direct  road  to  Carrville,  the  other  leading 
across  the  Manahio,  by  a  ford  more  than  a  mile  above  the  Laurels. 
She  turned  her  horse  into  this  road,  remarking  that  "  I  could  get 
to  town  that  way."  I  followed  her  across  the  creek,  wondering 
what  she  was  thinking  about  the  matter,  and  what  she  was  going 
to  say  about  my  request  for  the  history  of  the  Harwoods.  She 
was  evidently  thinking  upon  the  subject,  and  arriving  at  some 
conclusion. 

"  I  believe  I  understand  you,"  she  said  at  length.  "  You  shall 
have  all  the  information  I  can  give  you.  You  have  a  right  to  ask 
on  two  accounts.  You  have  saved  my  brother's  life,  and  there  is 
no  one  living  that  can  be  affected  by  the  history  I  can  furnish  you, 
unless  it  should  happen  that  the  Baltimore  family — but  they  are 
your  friends — "  She  considered  a  moment,  and  then  added: 
"  Promise  me  that  no  member  of  that  family  shall  know  what  you 
learn  from  the  papers  I  give  you." 

"  I  cannot.  It  would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  keep  such  a 
promise." 

"  Well,  promise  me  that  you  will  reveal  what  you  learn  from 
them  to  no  one  except  your  voife." 

u  I  may  safely  promise  that  5  I  shall  never  have  a  wife." 

"  There  is  something  very  strange  about  this  matter,"  said  Eet, 
with  an  air  of  great  perplexity.  "  I  suppose  it  is  not  proper  for 
me  to  ask  what  it  is  P 

" I  can  tell  you  this  much,"  I  replied  desperately :  "I  think  I 
love  a  lady,  or  that  I  would  love  her  if  I  dared.  But  I  have  rea- 
son to  think — or  know — that  she  loves  my  friend.  I  have  been 
told  that  there  is  even  an  engagement." 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  your  friend  loved  her,  but  if  there  is 
an  engagement  between  them " 

"  I  don't  know.  If  I  "knew  that  he  loved  her  as  she  ought  to  be 
loved,  I  think  I  could  endure  it."  She  listened  with  great  interest, 
and  I  was  encouraged  to  go  on.  "At  times  I  doubt  whether  she 
has  the  kind  and  degree  of  affection  for  him  that  a  wife  ought  to 
have.  My  ideas  on  the  subject  are  peculiar,  and  perhaps  roman- 
tic. If  I  should  ever  marry,  I  should  require  my  wife  to  love 
God  supremely — and  then  to  give  me  every  other  thought  and  feel- 
ing of  her  heart,  and,  in  requital,  I  would  love  her  as  no  man 
ever  loved  before,  or  ever  will  again." 


HERBERT.  89 

"And  you  doubt  whether  these  feelings  are  mutually  enter- 
tained by  Miss  Harwood  and  your  friend  F 

"I  do." 

"If  your  suspicions  are  well  founded/7  she  said,  speaking 
slowly  and  deliberately,  "they  ought  never  to  marry.  And  if 
you  could  be  certain  that  your  feelings  have  not  warped  your 
good  judgment,  you  would  be  justified  in  using  any  lawful  means 
to  avert  the  doom  that  awaits  them.  Your  friendship  for  one  and 
your  love  for  the  other,  equally  demand  your  interference  to  break 
an  engagement  which,  if  fulfilled,  will  entail  a  life  of  misery  upon 
both." 

She  said  this  with  great  earnestness.  We  had  entered  a  beau- 
tiful avenue,  and  were  approaching  a  house  far  superior  in  appear- 
ance to  any  of  the  residences  I  had  seen  in  the  State.  It  is  built 
in  the  style  of  English  cottages,  with  pointed  gables,  and  looks 
like  pictures  I  have  somewhere  seen,  probably  in  some  book  of 
architectural  designs.  A  broad  verandah  extends  along  the 
wide  front,  and  the  windows  opening  upon  it  descend  to  the 
floor,  having  inside  shutters,  which  fold  back  against  the  frames. 
Jacobus  took  our  horses,  and  we  stood  on  the  floor  of  the  veran- 
dah, looking  at  the  beautiful  prospect  before  us. 

"  This  is  Harwood,  sir,"  said  Eet,  "  and  I  bid  you  welcome  to 
my  father's  house." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  a  little  coal 
black  African,  who  showed  a  mouth  full  of  ivory  as  soon  as  he 
saw  us.  I  heard  him  bawling  out  from  the  back  of  the  house, 
after  we  had  passed  into  a  drawing  room  on  the  right  of  the  hall, 
"  Oh,  mammy,  mammy !  Here  Miss  Ket  done  coine,  wid  a  nudder 
gemp'lurn !  Uncle  'Cobus,  too  !" 

"  It  is  a  wonder  that 4  Uncle  'Cobus'  was  not  the  first  to  be  an- 
nounced," said  Eet,  laughing;  "here  conies  Aunt  Chloe." 

A  fat,  middle  aged  negress  came  waddling  into  the  room,  drop- 
ping me  a  curtsey,  and  a  "  Sarvant,  Mars'r !"  as  she  passed  me. 
She  waddled  over  to  Eet,  and,  shaking  her  hand,  said,  "  La !  Miss 
Eet,  I'se  right  down  glad  to  see  you !  But  dis  room  ain't  bin 
dusted  to-day.  Ef  I'd  knowd  you  was  gwine  to  come,  I'd  hab  it 
all  fix  up !" 

"  Never  mind,  Aunty,"  said  Eet,  "  I  am  only  going  to  stay  a 
little  while.  Send  Phany  for  Mr.  Beckett." 

"  De  oberseer  done  gone  to  town,  Missee,"  replied  Chloe. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  ride  over  again  to-morrow.    Tell  him  I'll  be 


90  EARWOOD. 

here  at  four  o'clock ;  and,  Aunty,  please  to  bring  me  the  black 
key  box.  It  is  on  the  table  in  my  room."  While  Aunt  Chloe  was 
absent,  Eet  said,  "  Since  my  father's  death  we  have  lived  alto- 
gether at  Mr.  Carr's.  There  is  no  one  about  the  house  excepting 
Chloe  and  her  son,  Phany." 

"  Phany  F  said  1 5  "  that  is  a  queer  name." 

"  His  name  is  Aristophanes.  The  negroes  like  big  names  for 
their  children,  and  father  always  gratified  them  by  getting  the 
longest  names  he  could  think  of.  Thank  you,  Aunty."  She  un- 
locked the  box  with  a  key  that  was  attached  to  her  watch  chain, 
and  taking  a  bunch  of  keys  from  the  box  she  opened  an  iron  door 
in  the  jamb  of  the  fireplace.  She  took  a  package  from  this  recess, 
and,  relocking  the  door,  replaced  the  keys  in  the  ebony  box,  which 
she  gave  back  to  Chloe,  instructing  her  to  return  it  to  her 
chamber. 

"  These  letters,"  she  said,  giving  me  the  package,  "  are  ar- 
ranged according  to  their  dates.  You  will,  perhaps,  have  to  read 
them,  all  if  you  desire  to  know  the  full  history  of  the  Harwoods. 
Some  of  them  are  old,  and  the  ink  has  faded,  but  they  are  all 
legible.  I  have  read  them  several  times.  You  will  understand, 
when  you  read  them,  why  I  wished  to  impose  the  restrictions " 

"I  wish  you  could  trust  me,"  I  said,  earnestly,  "and  let  me 
judge  how  much  of  the  story  I  may  reveal,  and  how  much  of  it  I 
should  consider  private  and  confidential." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  read  the  letters,  and  if  you 
think  afterwards  that  you  should  be  freed  from  your  promise, 
I'll — consider  it." 

I  assisted  her  to  mount  Midnight,  and  when  we  passed  out  of 
the  avenue  into  the  road,  she  observed  that  there  were  two  ways 
by  which  I  could  reach  Carrville  ;  "  The  most  direct  route  is  a 
succession  of  blind  paths,  and  you  might  easily  get  astray  in  the 
woods.  If  you  have  the  time  to  spare,  you  had  better  ride  round 
by  the  Laurels — I  am  going  home  that  way." 

"  I  have  the  day  before  me,"  I  answered ;  "my  mail  duties  do 
not  begin  till  late  in  the  night.  I  would  go  back  to  Manahio  with 
you  if  it  were  not  for  this  package.  I  am  dying  to  get  at  it." 

"What  have  you  heard  about  the  Haunted  Laurels?"  she 
asked,  as  we  rode  along.  "  Do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me,  I  know  the 
common  legend,  and  should  like  to  correct  any  wrong  impressions 
you  may  have." 

I  told  the  story  as  I  heard  it  from  Jacobus,  only  saying  that 
Mr.  Harwood  had  been  found  there  dead,  from  a  pistol  shot. 


HERBERT.  91 

"It  is  partly  true  and  partly  false/'  she  remarked,  when  I 
had  finished.  The  Densons  were  almost  undoubtedly  guilty;  but 
my  father  rather  tried  to  deliver  them  from  the  doom  they  suf- 
fered. They  did  not  threaten  Mr.  Carr  or  my  father  with  any 
unusual  calamity ;  but  one  of  them,  the  elder,  said  just  before  he 
died :  i  We  will  haunt  these  Laurels  for  five  years  to  come,  and 
cheat  those  cursed  Harwoods,  yet.'  Sometimes  I  think  my  father 
attached  some  particular  meaning  to  the  threat,  but  he  never  said 
so."  I  expected  her  to  say  something  about  her  father's  death ; 
but  she  did  not,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  ask  her  then.  When  we 
reached  the  Laurels,  she  said  she  wanted  to  see  the  scene  of  Her- 
bert's accident,  so  we  rode  through  the  bushes,  which  I  endeav- 
oured to  separate  for  her  passage.  I  pointed  out  the  places  where 
he  had  disappeared ;  where  I  sought  for  him ;  where  I  found  him ; 
and  where  we  landed.  We  went  back  to  the  road,  and  I  held 
out  my  hand  at  parting. 

"  I  have  said  nothing  to  you,  sir,"  she  said,  her  dear  eyes  once 
more  overflowing,  "  about  my  gratitude.  I  hope  you  know  that 
I  can  never  forget  what  we  owe  you." 

"  Pray,  Miss  Harwood,  say  no  more  about  it.  I  have  great  cause 
of  gratitude  to  God,  who  allowed  me  to  be  instrumental  in  saving 

your  brother,  since  you '  I  was  going  to  say  she  might  think 

kindly  of  me  for  Herbert's  sake ;  but  I  stopped.  She  seemed  to 
understand  me,  however,  but  she  said  nothing  ;  and  so  we  parted. 

Since  I  came  home  I  have  concluded  not  to  read  the  letters.  It 
would  be  dishonourable.  She  does  not  know  who  I  am,  and  she 
would  not  have  given  them  to  me  if  she  had  known  my  name.  I 
opened  the  package  and  looked  at  the  address  and  signature  of 
the  first  letter.  It  is  dated  "H.  M.  S.  Orpheus,  off  Malta,  De- 
cember 1, 1800  5"  and  was  signed  "  Herbert  Harwood."  I  there- 
fore know  that  the  letter  was  written  by  my  grand  uncle,  and 
although  I  was  burning  with  curiosity,  I  resealed  the  package, 
which  I  shall  take  back  to  her  to-morrow,  if  I  live.  She  said  she 
would  be  at  Harwood  at  four  o'clock.  So  will  I.  What  will  come 
of  that  interview  only  Heaven  knows.  I  am  resolved  to  —  be 
guided  by  circumstances. 


92  EARWOOD. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

KINDRED. 

SATURDAY,  May  15, 1836. 

WHEN  I  sat  down  last  night  and  opened  the  package  of  let 
ters,  1  was  in  a  state  of  excitement  which  I  can  neither  un- 
derstand nor  describe.  The  tones  of  rny  dear  cousin's  voice — for  she 
is  my  cousin,  I  know — and  the  light  of  her  eyes,  were  still  with  me  j 
and  I  felt  my  heart — nay,  I  feel  it  at  this  moment — thumping  my  ribs, 
as  though  it  wanted  to  get  out  and  go  after  her.  I  suppose  there  is 
something  about  her  forlorn  condition  as  an  orphan  that  excites  my 
sympathy.  All  the  intense  curiosity  I  felt  to  dive  after  the  mys- 
tery that  was  hidden  in  the  letters,  did  not  keep  me  from  spending 
a  solid  hour  in  recalling  all  her  looks  and  words.  Alas !  I  can 
find  nothing  in  them  that  indicates  any  interest  in  me.  She  re- 
gards me,  no  doubt,  as  a  poor  devil  of  a  clerk,  who  has  come  to 
this  far  off  country  to  make  money,  and  who  has  been  fortunate 
enough  to  get  some  slight  claim  upon  her,  by  pulling  her  brother 
out  of  the  water.  This  is  the  exact  state  of  the  case,  and  I  were 
a  double  distilled  goose  to  suppose  anything  else. 

(the  letters  were  all  open,  one  laid  upon  another,  and  I  looked 
only  at  the  date  and  signature  to  the  top  letter.  I  endeavoured 
not  to  see  the  address ;  but  I  think  I  did  see  u  My  dear  John."  I 
immediately  replaced  the  wrappers,  and  adding  a  new  one,  I  got 
sealing  wax  and  secured  the  package,  wnich  I  addressed  to  "  Miss 
Henrietta  Harwood,  Manahio." 

After  dinner  Mr.  White  was  here,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  would 
be  postmaster  w'hile  I  "  took  a  ride."  He  consented,  and  I  was 
astride  of  Charley's  horse,  and  cantering  out  of  town  pretty  early 
in  tlie  afternoon  ;  of  course  1  was  an  hour  or  two  too  early.  When 
I  crossed  the  creek  I.  looked  at  my  watch,  and  found  it  was  only 
two  o'clock.  Half  an  hour  would  take  me  to  Harwood,  or  to  Ma- 
nahio,  either,  so  I  had  an  hour  and  a  half  too  much  time.  I  rode  on 
slowly,  keeping  the  main  road,  and  thinking  of  yesterday's  ride,  and 
trying  to  invent  some  pretext  to  take  me  to  Manahio,  so  that  I  might 
accompany  Eet  in  her  ride  to  Harwood  5  but  I  was  too  stupid  to 
concoct  an  excuse  that  would  satisfy  me.  1  would  adhere  to  my 
original  plan,  which  was  to  be  at  the  latter  place  at  about  four 
o'clock.  Presently  I  heard  the  hoof  strokes  of  a  horse  behind  me ; 


KINDBED.  93 

but  I  did  not  look  back  until  he  was  near  enough  for  me  to  hear 
the  rider  say — 

"  Charley  Carr's  horse !    Hello !  Hubbard !" 

It  was  Mr.  Maltby. 

"  How  d'  ye  do  !"  he  said.  "  You  are  going  to  Highlands  to 
dine  with  me?  That's  first  rate." 

*'I  have  dined,  thank  you/'  replied  I;  "but  I  will  ride  a  little 
way  with  you.  Are  you  from  town  P 

"  No,  I  have  been  down  the  creek,  trying  to  survey  a  little.  My 
land  joins  Judge  Carr's  and  Harwood,  at  a  point  near  the  creek, 
and  none  of  us  have  any  fences  up.  I  want  to  cut  some  timber, 
and  don't  want  to  cut  any  of  my  neighbour's  in  mistake." 

"Do  the  lands  of  the  Harwood  estate  lie  on  this  side  of  the 
creek  P  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  a  portion  of  them.  Harwood  is  an  original  section,  and 
the  survey  of  that  estate  is  perfect.  The  line  crosses  the  creek  at 
the  ford,  and  I  think  it  just  takes  in  the  big  laurels." 

"  Isn't  it  a  fine  estate,  Mr.  Maltby  P 

"  Oh,  yes ;  poor  John  spent  much  money  in  improvements,  and 
was  considerably  involved  when  he  died.  It  won't  make  much 
difference  to  the  children,  however,  as  Judge  Can  holds  the  mort- 
gage." 

u  How  much  is  the  mortgage,  and  what  is  the  value  of  the 
estate  f 

"  Harwood  is  worth  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Carr's  mort- 
gage is  for  fifty  thousand.  He  advanced  money  to  John,  and  I 
think  he  also  holds  bills  of  sale,  giving  him  the  ownership  of  the 
niggers,  or  of  part  of  them.  There  was  some  arrangement  made, 
by  which  one  half  of  the  estate  should  go  to  Herbert,  iminvolved, 
and  Eet  won't  want  any  estate,  you  know,  as  she  is  going  to  marry 
Charley." 

"  But  suppose  she  does  not,  what  estate  has  she  then  ?" 

"  Just  none  at  all,  I  reckon.  But  the  match  has  been  settled  long 
ago,  and  it  will  be  first  rate  on  both  sides.  Eet  is  a  splendid  girl, 
and  you  know  what  Charley  is." 

"  Yes."  I  tried  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  indifference,  but  I 
was  on  fire.  "  When  does  the  wedding  come  off  f  I  coughed,  to 
hide  the  trembling  of  my  voice,  as  I  asked  the  question. 

"  Pretty  soon,  I  reckon.  Maybe  Charley  has  gone  to  the  city  to 
get  his  toggery  now  ?"  here  he  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  I  don't  know.    He  did  not  tell  me." 


94  HAEWOOD. 

"  I  think  111  persuade  Oarr  to  settle  that  mortgage  on  Charley; 
for  if  the  Judge  bets  as  high  all  the  time  as  he  did  t'other  night 
he'll  be  flat  broke  before  he  dies." 

"•  I  noticed  that  he  was  betting  pretty  high,"  I  said ;  "  ten  dol- 
lars a  game,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Ten  dollars  a  game,  and  twenty-five  on  the  rub,"  replied  Mr. 
Maltby,  "  and  he  did  not  win  any  rubs  that  night.  He  must  have 
lost  a  thousand  at  least." 

"  He  must  have  a  strong  back  to  stand  many  such  losses,"  I  ob- 
served. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  short  of  funds  now.  He  has 
been  going  it  tolerably  strong  with  Delaney  single-handed,  and  I 
must  say  that  Delaney  has  the  devil's  own  luck !"  He  hesitated,  and 
then  added,  "  ]ook  here,  youngster,  all  this  is  confidential,  mind 
you !  D'  ye  remember  last  Sunday,  when  Delaney  and  I  found  you 
after  you  killed  the  panther  ?  Well — he  had  been  playing  euchre 
all  the  morning  with  Carr,  and  must  have  won  like  thunder !" 

I  looked  at  my  watch  and  found  it  was  three  o'clock,  so  bidding 
Mr.  Maltby  good-bye,  I  rode  back  to  the  creek,  and  thinking 
I  might  overtake  or  be  overtaken  by  Midnight  and  her  mistress, 
I  pushed  on  at  a  good  pace.  But  I  reached  the  long  avenue  with- 
out seeing  any  traces  of  her,  and  concluding  that  I  would  go  on 
boldly  and  wait  for  her,  I  fastened  my  horse  near  the  house.  I 
rang  the  bell  and  Aristophanes  showed  his  black  visage  in  a  few 
minutes. 

"  Well,  Phany,  has  Miss  Eet  come  yet?" 

"  Ko  Mars'r — walk  in,  sar !"  and  he  ushered  me  into  the  drawing 
room.  I  sat  down  in  the  arm  chair  where  she  sat  yesterday,  and 
tried  to  resolve  to  do  right.  Maltby  had  made  me  happy  and 
most  miserable.  She  was  poor!  Heaven  be  thanked !  But  she 
was  soon  to  be  rich  by  a  marriage,  which  I  felt  ought  not  to  be  sol- 
emnized. What  should  I  do  ?  What  is  my  DUTY  u?  I  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands,  and  made  a  baby  of  myself. 

"  Lor'  bless  us !    Is  you  sick,  young  mars'r  ?"    It  was  Chloe. 

"No,  Aunty!"  said  I,  starting  up  and  wiping  my  eyes,  "  not  very. 
I  have  had  a  dreadful  pain  just  here  in  my  side ;  it  is  better  now. 
Don't  tell  any  one  that  you  saw  me  crying  over  such  a  little  affair;" 
and  I  slipped  a  dollar  into  her  hand.  "  How  soon  do  you  expect 
Miss  Harwood  P 

"  She  not  gwine  to  come  to-day,  sar,"  she  replied.  "  'Oobus  bin 
here  for  oberseer  to  go  over  dar.  Missee  Eet  sick !" 


KINDRED.  95 

"  Sick !    Good  Heavens !    How  sick  P 

"  Only  headache/7  'Cobus  says.     "  S'poseyou  ride  over,  sar  W 

"  If  I  could  do  any  good — pshaw !  what  a  fool  I  ara !  here,  Aunt 
Chloe,  is  a  package  which  Miss  Eet  gave  me  yesterday.  Where 
shall  I  put  it  ?  It  is  important,  and  I  want  to  put  it  in  a  safe  place." 

She  pulled  open  a  drawer  in  a  secretaire  in  the  room,  and  I 
placed  the  letters  in  it,  closed  and  locked  it,  and  put  the  key  in 
my  pocket. 

"  I  will  give  the  key  to  Miss  Eet,  Aunty ,"  I  said,  as  I  came  away ; 
"  did  Jacobus  go  to  town  after  doctor  Markham  f 

"Lor'  no!  Mars'r — Miss  Eet  don't  want  doctor  for  headache! 
yah,  yah,  yah !  S'pose  I  git  you  somethin'  for  pain  in  your  side, 
Mars'r — am  got  some  first  rate  yarb  tea !" 

"  Never  mind,  Aunty,  I  am  pretty  well  now.  Good-bye."  I  got 
my  horse,  and  gave  Phany  a  quarter  as  he  stood  grinning  at  the 
gate,  and — here  I  am  back  again.  I  am  learning  a  hard  lesson — 
I  am  learning  to  wait.  Oh  for  patience,  and  wisdom,  and  strength, 
and  manhood ! 

SABBATH,  May  16, 1836. 

One  week  ago  I  was  in  the  green  woods  at  this  hour,  careless 
and  indifferent  about  everything  except  present  enjoyment.  I  was 
looking  forward  with  a  pleasant  curiosity  to  the  time  when  I 
should  know  who  Eet  was  and  what  she  was  like.  What  changes 
one  short  week  has  wrought !  I  am  a  different  man  to-day.  I  am 
ten  years  older.  I  used  to  have  a  theory  upon  which  I  reposed  with 
great  complacency.  It  was  this :  no  contingency  can  occur  in 
which  I  need  be  doubtful  as  to  my  course,  so  long  as  my  reason 
will  show  me  what  is  honourable  and  right.  And  now  I  am  per- 
plexed with  doubts.  I  decide  finally  upon  a  course,  and  give  my 
resolve  to  the  winds  an  hour  later.  I  find  myself  saying  to  my- 
self— "  Let  us  wait  for  the  emergency,  and  then  it  will  bo  time 
enough  to  decide."  But  I  hear  the  church  bell. 


96  HARWOOD. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 
A  PARTING. 

MONDAY,  May  17, 1836. 

WHEN  I  went  to  the  church  yesterday  I  arrived  in  time  to 
assist  Miss  Harwood  to  alight  from  Judge  Carr's  carriage. 
Herbert  followed,  greeting  me  warmly,  and  then  Mr.  Carr.  The 
latter  invited  me  to  sit  in  his  pew.  Mr.  Hamilton  was  already  in 
the  pulpit.  His  manner  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  attracted  me, 
from  the  utterance  of  his  first  short  prayer.  His  text  was  "  Deny 
thyself,"  and  I  have  certainly  never  heard  such  a  discourse  as  he 
delivered.  My  attention  was  riveted.  I  heard  every  syllable  of 
the  sermon,  which  was  spoken,  not  read,  and  I  could  now  write 
down  in  order  the  divisions  of  the  discourse,  and  the  arguments 
and  appeals  occurring  under  each  head.  I  believe  a  profound  and 
salutary  impression  was  made  upon  my  mind,  for  I  no  longer  feel 
doubtful  or  desponding,  though  I  am  far  from  happy.  I  can  wait 
for  the  emergency,  and  think  I  shall  do  right  when  the  emer- 
gency comes.  After  the  sermon  Mr.  Hamilton  announced  that 
there  would  be  service  in  the  afternoon  at  "  Harwood  Chapel," 
and,  as  we  came  out  of  the  church,  Mr.  Carr  suggested  that  I 
should  ride  out  with  them,  and  if  I  felt  disposed,  "  I  could  attend 
the  service  at  the  chapel."  Herbert  seconded  the  invitation  on 
the  instant.  I  did  not  accept  immediately,  waiting  for  some  indi- 
cation of  Miss  Harwood's  wishes.  I  did  not  get  it.  She  looked  at 
me  inquiringly,  and  I  accepted,  saying  I  would  get  Charley's 
horse  and  overtake  them.  I  rode  beside  the  carriage,  talking  and 
listening.  Eet  was  quiet,  answering  when  spoken  to,  but  volun- 
teering no  conversation.  When  dinner  was  over  she  disappeared, 
and  Herbert  and  I  walked  about  the  grounds,  he  chattering  and 
I  smoking.  I  had  observed  at  dinner  that  I  would  go  to  the 
chapel  if  "  any  of  them "  were  going,  and  Eet  replied  that  she 
would  go  on  Midnight.  I  was  impatient  for  the  hour  to  arrive.  It 
came  at  last,  and  we  started,  she  and  I — no  groom,  for  Sunday  is 
the  negro's  holiday.  If  I  dared  to  make  such  a  choice,  I  could 
wish  that  my  life  ended  when  that  ride  was  over.  I  was  weak 
enough  to  be  happy  while  it  lasted. 

" Where  is  Harwood  chapel?"  I  inquired,  as  we  entered  the 
avenue  leading  to  Harwood. 


A  PARTING.  97 

"  It  is  on  an  edge  of  the  plantation,  beyond  the  house.  We  go 
very  nearly  by  the  same  road  as  that  we  passed  over  the  other 
day.  The  chapel  was  built  by  my  father,  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  blacks  belonging  to  the  three  plantations,  Manahio,  High- 
lands and  Harwood." 

"  Then  this  afternoon's  service  is  for  their  benefit  f 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  always  a  good  attendance  of  whites,  and 
ihey  are  always  particularly  welcome." 

"  I  hope  you  have  entirely  recovered  from  your  indisposition  of 
yesterday  F  She  looked  surprised.  "  Ohloe  told  me  you  were 
sick." 

"  Where  did  you  see  Chloe  f 

"  At  Harwood.  I  was  there  yesterday,  hoping  to  meet  you.  I 
took  back  the  letters.  The  package  is  in  the  right  hand  drawer 
of  the  secretaire  in  the  drawing  room.  Here  is  the  key." 

"  Have  you  read  all  these  letters  *?" 

"  I  have  read  none  of  them.  I  opened  the  package  and  saw 
that  one  of  the  letters  was  written  by  Captain  Sir  Herbert  Har- 
wood, of  the  British  navy,  and  I  know  that  he  was  the  grand 
uncle  of  Herbert  Harwood,  of  Baltimore." 

"I  have  suspected  as  much,"  she  replied,  taking  the  key;  "but 
I  cannot  understand  why  the  knowledge  of  this  relationship  de- 
cided you  to  return  the  letters  unread." 

"  Because  you  were  not  willing  that  your  relations  should  know 
anything  or  everything  that  may  be  revealed  in  those  letters.  I 
could  not  read  them,  if  I  regarded  my  own  honour,  because  one  at 
least  of  that  family  would  know  all  that  I  could  learn  from  them." 

"  I  thought  I  made  an  exception  of  that  one  member,"  she  said, 
smiling.  "  I  think  if  you  had  read  the  letters  you  would  have 
justified  my  course.  However,  we  will  talk  about  it  hereafter. 
There  is  the  chapel." 

Half  a  dozen  well  dressed  negroes  surrounded  us  as  we  rode  up 
in  front  of  the  building,  taking  possession  of  the  horses,  and  over- 
whelming us  with  polite  attentions.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  White,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Maltby  and  Mr.  Hamilton  were  standing  apart,  in  the  shade 
of  the  trees.  We  joined  them  and  entered  the  chapel  together. 
It  is  a  plain  building,  weather-boarded  on  the  outside  and  white- 
washed. The  "  white  folks "  occupied  the  front  seats,  and  the 
house  was  soon  filled  with  a  well  behaved  jand  attentive  audience. 
The  singing  was  positively  wonderful,  though  somewhat  marred 
by  the  necessity  to  "line  out"  the  hymns,  after  the  Methodist 

7 


98  HARWOOD. 

fashion.  The  overseer,  Beckett,  whom  I  saw  playing  cards  in 
town  the  other  night,  was  there,  and  I  caught  him  eyeing  me 
curiously  once  or  twice.  Mr.  Hamilton  preached  a  plain,  simple 
and  beautiful  Gospel  sermon,  which  was  understood  by  the  most 
untutored  of  his  listeners.  It  was  near  sunset  when  we  started 
on  our  homeward  journey,  and  we  rode  slowly,  enjoying  the  calm 
beauty  of  the  early  summer.  I  talked  about  the  discourse  of  the 
morning,  and  expressed  my  admiration  of  the  minister  in  very 
warm  terms. 

"  I  have  enjoyed  to-day's  sermons  very  much,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
did  not  suppose  that  a  discourse  on  self-denial  would  have  been 
considered  so  appropriate  by  you." 

a  Ah,  you  don't  know  how  much  I  have  been  strengthened  in 
my  better  purposes  by  Mr.  Hamilton's  teachings  this  morning. 
Neither  do  you  know  how  much  I  need  all  the  support  I  can  ob- 
tain, to  keep  me  in  the  course  of  honour  and  duty." 

"  I  do  not  know,  of  course,  what  particular  temptations  you  may 
be  called  upon  to  overcome,  and  if  I  did,  I  am  not  qualified  to 
counsel  you." 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Harwood,  but  you  alone  can  give  me  the  coun- 
sel I  need.  Don't  look  at  me  with  such  an  astonished  expression, 
or  I  shall  never  find  courage  to  go  on.  I  am  reluctant  to  say  what 
is  upon  my  mind  anyhow,  because  the  kindness  with  which  you 
have  listened  to  me  hitherto  is  due  to  the  slight  service  I  was  .able 
to  render  your  brother.  Don't  interrupt  me,  please !  I  mean  to 
say  that  you  would  never  have  allowed  the  present  terms  of  in- 
timacy to  exist  between  us  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  fortunate 
accident." 

"  There  are  no  accidents,"  she  replied. 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  believe  it,  and  I  regard  your  brother's  peril, 
from  which  I  was  permitted  to  rescue  him,  as  the  interposition  of 
a  kind  Providence  in  my  behalf.  Otherwise  I  might  never  have 
known  you  as  well  as  I  know  you  now." 

"  I  understand  you,"  she  said,  gently,  "and  although  you  speak 
slightingly  of  your  instrumentality  in  saving  Herbert,  I  know  from 
your  own  description,  as  well  as  from  his,  that  you  exposed  your 
own  life  to  danger.  If  another  had  been  there,  instead  of  you, 
my  brother  would  probably  have  died.  You  have  spoken  very 
much  in  riddles  about  the  matter  that  interests  you.  May  I  ask 
you  one  or  two  questions  f 7 

"  A  thousand." 


A  PARTING.  99 

"  Less  than  that  will  do,"  answered  she,  laughing.  "  Suppose 
you  knew  that  the  father  of  Grace  Harwood  had  been  guilty  of  an 
act  of  peculiar  infamy,  to  which  he  was  instigated,  and  in  the  per- 
formance of  which  he  had  been  aided  by  her  mother — 

"  If  there  is  a  living  man  who  will  dare  to  say  so,"  I  replied, 
while  I  struggled  fiercely  to  keep  down  the  raging  tempest  her 
words  had  raised  in  my  bosom,  "  I  will  slay  him  like  a  dog." 

"There  is  no  living  man  that  I  know  of  to  encounter  your  sinful 
anger.  The  testimony  to  this  sad  story  comes  from  the  grave." 

By  this  time  I  was  perfectly  calm.  I  had  reflected,  even  while 
she  was  speaking,  and  had  decided  that  some  strange  mystery 
was  to  be  cleared  up.  That  such  a  foul  charge  could  be  true  of 
the  noble  gentleman  I  dimly  remembered,  or  of  his  widow,  my 
angelic  Mother,  was  simply  impossible. 

"  I  was  excited  by  your  cruel  words,  doubly  cruel  coming  from 
you,  to  speak  intemperately.  Pray,  forgive  me.  I  am  perfectly 
cool  now." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,"  answered  Eet ;  "  your  anger  was  natural, 
considering  the  relations  you  sustain  to  that  unhappy  family.  I 
think  I  shall  burn  that  package  of  letters — 

"  I  charge  you  not  to  do  so,"  said  I,  "  interrupting  her.  "  Miss 
Harwood,  do  you  believe  that  I  am  an  honest  man  and  a  gen- 
tleman P 

"  Undoubtedly  I  do,"  she  replied,  astonished  at  my  vehemence. 

"  Then  I  implore  you  to  intrust  me  with  those  letters  once  more, 
and  without  any  restrictions.  Nay,  let  me  have  them,  with  the 
full  certainty  that  every  line  shall  be  read  by  Herbert  Harwood, 
the  son  of  the  man  whose  memory  they  blacken." 

"You  don't  know  what  you  ask.  You  require  me  to  send  un- 
utterable misery  into  the  midst  of  a  family  of  innocent  children. 
If  I  had  destroyed  those  papers  before  I  saw  you,  none  of  this 
could  have  happened." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  in  error,"  I  answered;  "  you  don't  know  how 
fatal  the  mistake  would  have  been  if  you  had  destroyed  this  rec- 
ord. I  am  young,  but  I  have  a  man's  heart  and  a  man's  arm.  I 
will  right  this  dead  man's  memory  and  clear  the  stain  upon  this 
living  woman's  name.  I  devote  myself  to  this  work,  body  and 
soul.  Oh,  if  you  had  known  that  loyal  gentleman!  Oh,  if  you 
knew  that  spotless  lady !  You  would  then  know,  as  I  know,  that 
no  infamy  could  ever  attach  to  their  names.  It  is  you,  you  who 
shall  admit  it !  I  swear  it  to  you  before  heaven !" 


1,00  HARWOOD. 

"  I  cannot  withstan  yon/7  she  answered,  as  we  entered  the 
grounds  at  Mauahio,  "  you,  shall  have  the  letters,  and  do  with 
them  as  your  honour  and  conscience  shall  dictate.  You  said  just 
now  that  I  was  interested  in  you  on  Herbert's  account.  I  am  much 
more  interested  in  you  on  your  own.  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry — "  and  I 
saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes  by  the  fading  light,  as  I  assisted  her 
from  the  saddle,  "  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  should  have  been  instru- 
mental in  making  you  unhappy." 

"  If  I  ever  know  happiness  again,  in  this  life,  it  will  be  you  who 
shall  confer  it  upon  me.  When  may  I  have  the  letters  P 

"  To-morrow — no,  on  Tuesday.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maltby  will  be 
here  all  day  to-morrow,  and  I  cannot  be  absent.  Can  you  wait 
till  Tuesday  F 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  will  come  for  them  on  Tuesday  afternoon,  shall 
I  ?"  and  so  it  was  settled.  We  went  into  the  house.  I  staid  to 
tea  and  then  rode  home  in  the  night. 

TUESDAY,  May  18th,  1836. 

I  don't  know  how  much  time  I  shall  have  to  write,  but  while  I 
am  waiting  for  the  steamboat,  I  may  as  well  get  as  much  as  I  can 
recorded.  Last  night  there  was  a  mail  from  New  Orleans,  and  in 
it  a  letter  from  Mr.  Bayard  for  me.  He  says  the  loss  of  the  Sea 
Gull  is  confirmed,  and  he  wants  me  to  join  him  on  board  the  "  Queen 
of  the  West,"  which  he  expected  to  arrive  at  Carrville  some  time 
to-night.  She  is  bound  for  Wheeling  or  Pittsburg,  and  I  am  to  go 
on  ,to  Baltimore  and  New  York  to  collect  the  insurance  and  replace 
the  goods.  I  went  over  to  Mr.  White's  this  morning,  and  announced 
my  intention  to  leave  Carrville  to-night,  and  begged  him  to  take 
charge  of  the  Post-office  to-day,  and  let  me  off.  He  growled 
a  good  deal  at  the  prospect  of  making  up  and  assorting  mails  for 
two  months,  but  set  me  free  soon  after  breakfast.  By  ten  o'clock 
I  was  at  Manahio.  I  found  Judge  Carr  in  his  library  among  a 
tyuge  pile  of  papers,  and  accounted  for  my  appearance  by  saying 
that  I  was  going  to  New  York,  and  came  to  offer  my  services  if  I 
could  transact  any  business  for  him  there.  "  You  said,  sir,"  I  ob- 
served, "  that  the  letter  I  brought  you  the  other  day  could  only  be 
answered  in  person,  and  I  thought  1  might  be  able  to  represent  you, 
if  you  would  like  to  entrust  me  with  the  business."  He  was  evi- 
dently pleased  with  the  attention,  and  expressed  himself  in  polite 
terms,  as  under  great  obligations  to  me.  Selecting  the  letter  from 
tiie  mass  of  papers  before  him,  he  requested  me  to  read  it.  It  is 
as  follows: 


A  PARTING.  101 

"  NEW  YORK,  May  1, 1836. 

"  DEAR  SIR  : — I  have  at  last  got  entire  control  of  the  mine,  and, 
according  to  agreement,  I  offer  you  one-fourth  interest.  The  total 
cost,  with  expenses,  is  about  two  thousand  dollars 5  your  propor- 
tion being,  of  course,  one-fourth  of  that  sum.  I  am  sure  the  profit 
will  be  good,  and  it  may  be  enormous.  If  you  accept,  let  me  hear 
from  you  (with  remittance)  on  or  before  30th  June.  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  keep  the  stock  beyond  that  date. 
"  Very  respectfully  yours, 

"GEORGE  CALLAHAN." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Hubbard,  it  is  not  a  long  story.  Mr.  Callahan  is  a 
stock  broker  in  Wall  street.  About  a  year  ago  I  was  in  New 
York,  and  he  and  two  other  gentlemen  were  negotiating  for  this 
mine.  From  his  representations  I  was  induced  to  promise  to  take 
a  fourth  part  of  it  if  it  should  prove  as  good  as  the}7  predicted.  If 
I  could  go  there  I  would  be  governed  by  circumstances.  If  I  was 
not  satisfied  that  the  investment  was  a  good  one  I  should  not 
hesitate  to  decline  it  5  and  I  would  not  be  misled  by  the  visionary 
schemes  of  speculators.  Will  you,  can  you  spare  the  time  neces- 
sary to  look  thoroughly  into  the  affair  f  If  so,  take  the  letter  and. 
act  for  me  according  to  your  judgment." 

"I  will  attend  to  this  business  with  great  pleasure,  sir,"  I 
answered,  "  and  if  the  money  must  be  paid  I  shall  have  control  of 
a  sufficient  sum  from  the  insurances  I  am  to  collect,  and  you  can 
either  settle  with  me  when  I  return  or  remit  it  to  New  York." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  he  replied,  rising  as  I  was  about 
to  leave  him.  "  I  suppose  I  need  not  ask  you  to  dine  with  me,  as 
you  say  you  must  hasten  back.  Good-bye,  sir ;  I  hope  you  will- 
have  a  pleasant  trip,  and  that  we  shall  soon  have  you  back 
again." 

As  I  rode  away  I  saw  Master  Herbert  with  a  fishing  rod  strolling 
down  the  drive.  I  had  not  asked  for  his  sister,  because  I  intended 
to  go  straight  to  Harwood  and  wait  for  her,  as  I  knew  she  would 
go  there  for  the  letters.  I  called  out  to  the  boy  as  I  approached 
him — "  Hello,  cousin  Herbert,  don't  get  drowned  again  to-day ;  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  pull  you  out.  Farewell !  I  am  going  North 
to-night." 

'"  W'hen  are  you  coming  back  ?" 

"  In  about  two  months.     Is  your  sister  home  TJ 

"  No.     She  went  to  Harwood  half  an  hour  ago." 


102  HARWOOD. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  off.    Tell  Charley  good-bye  for  me." 

I  reckon  Charley's  horse  thought  some  bad  words  as  he  flew 
along  the  road  to  Harwood.  I  threw  the  bridle  to  Jake,  who  was 
fastening  Midnight  to  the  rack,  and  walked  up  011  to  the  veran- 
dah, and  through  the  French  window  into  the  drawing  roqjn. 
Bet  was  seated  at  the  secretaire  fitting  the  key  to  the  Jock  when 
I  entered.  She  started,  and  uttered  some  exclamation  when  she 
saw  me. 

"I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,  Miss  Harwood,  for  coming  so 
abruptly,  but  I  am  much  hurried.  I  am  going  away  to-night." 

"  Going  away !"  She  pushed  the  chair  back,  and  looked  at  me 
earnestly. 

"  Yes  ;  I  start  for  Baltimore  to-night — on  business.  I  shall  be- 
away  two  months,  perhaps  longer  ;  I  hope  you  will  not  forget  me/ 

"  I  shall  not  forget  you,"  she  answered,  very  quietly. 

"  You  will  give  me  the  letters  T 7  She  opened  the  drawer  and 
handed  me  the  package.  "  Thank  you.  If  I  never  come  back  I 
will  destroy  them.  If  I  do  come  back  I  will  return  them  to  you." 

"  I  understood  you  to  say  that  you  would  be  back  this  sum- 
mer," she  said,  in  the  same  quiet  tone.  "  Why  do  you  now  say 
you  may  not  return  F 

"  Because  I  will  not  look  upon  your  face  again  if  I  fail  to  un- 
ravel the  dark  mystery  that  is  hidden  in  this  packet." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  letters  that  can  possibly  affect  you," 
said  Ket ;  "  if  you  fail  to  disprove  the  things  that  trouble  you,  there 
are  many  compensations,  even  in  this  life,  for  all  its  disappoint- 
ments." 

"  There  is  more  than  life  involved  in  these  fatal  letters.  I 
would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  believe  what  you  say 
they  reveal.  But  I  shall  not  fail !  Farewell !  and  may  you  be  as 
happy  as  I  wish  you  to  be.  If  I  am  not  permitted  to  see  you 
again,  you  may  perhaps  be  happier  in  the  reflection  that  one  mise- 
rable man  is  less  miserable  because  he  can  remember  you  and 
your  kindness." 

"  Must  you  go  f  she  said  hurriedly,  as  I  moved  away. 

"  Yes.  better  that  I  should !  Words  are  trying  to  break  from  me 
that  should  not  be  spoken!  Will  you  forgive  the  presumption 
if  I  ask  you  one  question,  personal  to  you  alone  f  She  did  not 
answer,  but  looked  steadily  at  me.  u  Well,  I  will  not  ask  it.  I 
prefer  leaving  you  with  a  kind  expression  on  your  face.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  succeed  in  my  effort  to  make  you  think  as  I  think  of 
your  kindred  in  Baltimore  F 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTEKS.  103 

a  I  will  pray  for  your  success  every  day  while  you  are  gone — 
and  also  that  you  may  have  grace  to  endure  that  which  you  can- 
not avert  or  change." 

She  paused — then  said  suddenly — "  What  did  you  wish  to  ask 
nie?" 

" I  heard  that  you  would  be  married  very  soon,  is  it  true?" 

She  became  pale  as  a  lily — then  blushed  very  red.  I  thought 
she  pouted. 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  married  very  soon." 

"  Not  this  summer  P 

u  Not  this  summer.77 

"  Thank  God  P  and  I  rushed  out  of  the  house.  I  wonder  if  she 
thinks  I  am  a  lunatic. 

There  is  the  steamboat  bell ! 


A  BUNDLE  OF   LETTERS. 

LETTER     I. 

H.  M.  S.  ORPHEUS,        i 
OFF  MALTA,  December  1, 1800.  } 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esqr.,  London. 

My  dear  John : — I  hear  bad  news  of  you,  my  boy.  You  and 
Barnard  have  been  quarrelling  again !  What  shall  I  say  to  you, 
you  young  lubber  ?  If  I  could  only  get  at  you  with  a  rope's  end 
I  should  die  happy.  I  know  you  will  have  excuses  enough,  but 
there  can  be  no  satisfactory  excuse.  How  is  it  that  Allen,  who 
has  always  been  a  good  lad,  can  avoid  these  quarrels,  while  you, 
you  fiery  young  puppy,  are  always  getting  into  them  I  When  I 
was  at  your  age  I  never  had  any  fights  except  with  my  brothers. 
If  I  had  lived  in  the  same  house  with  cousins  I  think  I  should 
have  lived  at  peace  the  year  round.  Your  father  and  Allen's 
father  used  to  combine  forces  to  thrash  me,  but  they  never  did  it, 
my  boy !  I  suppose  it  is  all  right  and  natural  for  brothers  to  fight 
a  little,  but  it  is  heinous  for  cousins  to  squabble.  Now,  just  for 
the  sake  of  argument,  let  us  suppose  a  case.  Suppose  it  were  true 
that  Barnard  was  always  in  the  wrong,  and  that  you  were  always 
in  the  right  ?  Even  then  you  might  consider  your  aunt's  peace  of 


104  EARWOOD. 

mind,  and  endure  a  little  for  her  sake.     But  I  won't  scold  any 
more. 

There  is  some  prospect  of  relief  from  this  cruising  ground  for 
the  old  Orpheus.  I  am  told  that  my  ship  will  be  ordered  home 
soon,  and  it  is  hinted  that  I  shall  have  sailing  orders  in  another 
direction.  It  will  be  very  pleasant  to  be  among  you  young 
scamps,  even  for  a  few  months,  and  if  I  have  no  more  ill  accounts 
in  the  meantime,  there  will  be  a  grand  distribution  of  guineas  at 
Harwood  House  when  I  come !  I  don't  expect  this  hint  to  have 
any  salutary  effect  upon  you,  however,  but  just  let  Barnard  know 
what  is  in  prospect,  and  perhaps  he  will  behave  better.  I  expect 
you  to  keep  straight  from  love  to  your  old  uncle.  If  you  are  still 
bent  upon  your  American  explorations,  I  shall  not  oppose  you, 
though  it  is  a  wild  goose  chase.  But  youngsters  won't  learn  in 
any  other  school  than  the  school  of  experience. 

There  is  a  regular  Levanter  blowing  to-day,  and  the  ship  is  roll- 
ing tremendously,  so  that  writing  is  no  easy  task.  If  the  wind 
holds,  and  I  get  my  orders,  I  can  slip  through  the  straits  in  a 
jiffy !  Tour  affectionate  uncle, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


LETTER     II. 

H.  M.  S.  ORPHEUS,        ) 
OFF  MALTA,  December  1,  1800  ) 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  London. 

Dearest  Anne :— I  enclose  two  letters  to  the  boys,  which  you  will 
please  seal  and  deliver  to  them,  after  possessing  yourself  of  the  con- 
tents. From  your  account,  I  feel  sure  that  Barnard  is  altogether  to 
blame,  and  Allen's  letter,  which  I  also  enclose,  strengthens  this  im- 
pression. You  will  see  from  my  letter  to  John,  that  I  have  hopes  of 
seeing  you  in  a  few  months,  and  if  the  necessary  repairs  are  put  upon 
the  ship,  I  shall  perhaps  be  with  you  the  greater  part  of  next  year. 
I  need  not  tell  you,  dear  wife,  that  the  prospect  is  very  cheering  to 
an  old  sea  dog,  who  has  been  knocking  and  being  knocked  about 
the  world  for  two  long  years,  in  which  time  he  has  been  far  from 
home  and  kindred.  The  changes  in  the  Government,  to  which  you 
refer,  cannot  affect  me  very  materially.  If  we  are  going  to  have  a 
peaceful  time,  and  I  am  no  more  to  hear  the  roar  of  the  Orpheus's 
broadsides,  I  shall  hang  up  my  sword  in  the  library  at  Harwood 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  105 

House,  and  retire  upon  half  pay.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  con- 
cerned about  those  young  whelps  at  home.  John  is  so  violent  and 
impulsive  that  I  am  continually  expecting  to  hear  of  some  mad 
exploit  of  his  that  may  embitter  his  whole  future  life.  I  know- 
that  all  his  instincts  are  generous  and  noble,  and  if  he  is  properly 
managed  and  controlled,  he  will  add  honour  to  the  old  name.  I 
understand  your  hint  about  promotion,  &c.  Women  are  always 
ambitious !  But  I  am  entirely  indifferent  about  such  vain  gewgaws. 
It  is  enough  to  belong  to  the  race  from  which  I  sprang,  and  I 
really  believe  I  accepted  the  little  title  I  received  with  the  peace- 
ful stroke  of  His  Majesty's  sword  only  to  please  you.  Sir  Her- 
bert Harwood,  knight,  is  no  greater  personage  in  niy  opinion  than 
plain  Captain  Harwood  was ;  and,  as  for  money,  we  have  more 
than  enough  for  all  probable  contingencies.  You  know  my  income 
has  nearly  doubled  since  I  received  my  inheritance,  and  I  have 
been  able  to  lay  aside  £5,000  for  each  of  the  boys  and  Alice,  with- 
out impairing  my  estate  one  bit.  I  want  this  to  go  to  Allen,  as 
good  as  it  was  when  I  received  it,  and,  maybe,  far  better.  Allen 
does  not  know  anything  about  my  will  5  of  course,  you  will  not 
tell  him.  There  will  be  another  mail  bag  in  a  week  or  so,  by  the 
Chester,  and  I  will  write  again. 

Your  devoted  husband, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


LETTER  III. 

LONDON,  October  9,  1800. 

To  CAPTAIN  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  H.  M.  S.  Orpheus,  Medi- 
terranean Squadron. 

My  dear  Uncle: — Aunt  Anne  does  not  know  that  I  am  writing 
to  you,  and  I  thought  you  could  tell  her  yourself,  if  you  wish  her 
to  know  what  I  write  about.  I  have  been  here  about  two  weeks; 
all  the  rest  are  at  Harwood  House,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  get  back 
in  a  few  days.  Dear  Uncle,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Barnard  and 
John  don't  get  along  together  at  all,  and  I  wish  now  that  you  had 
carried  out  your  plan,  and  sent  them  to  different  schools.  I  don't 
care  which  one  goes  with  me,  but  I  hope  you  won't  send  us  alt 
three  together.  Barnard  has  got  Aunt  Anne's  permission  to  go 


106  HARWOOD. 

down  to  Scotland  to  shoot.  He  was  invited  by  the  young  Laird 
I  wrote  you  about  last  month,  Macallan,  of  Linmuir.  You  know 
his  place  is  somewhere  near  Glasgow.  Uncle,  he  is  another  bad 
fellow,  arid  a  great  deal  worse  because  he  has  plenty  of  pocket 
money.  He  and  Barnard  are  very  intimate,  and  I  think  Alice 
likes  this  Scotchman  very  much.  I  don't  believe  Aunt  Anne  will 
tell  you  about  the  last  quarrel  between  John  and  Barnard.  It 
was  all  on  account  of  Macailan,  who  came  in  to  dinner  one  day 
quite  drunk!  He  is  only  seventeen  or  eighteen,  though  he  is  a 
big  fellow.  Aunt  Anne  had  Lord  and  Lady  Morton  to  dinner 
that  day,  and  John  tried  to  persuade  the  other  boys  to  stay  in 
their  rooms,  as  they  were  not  fit  to  be  seen  in  respectable  society. 
He  offered  to  stay  with  them,  and  so  did  I.  Macallan  swore  at  us 
dreadfully,  and  said  he  meant  to  "  walk  down  with  Leddy  Morton, 
who  was  na  fit  to  be  married  to  sic  an  auld  pike  as  my  Lord." 
Barnard  encouraged  him,  and  told  John  he  was  a  low  fellow,  and 
not  a  proper  person  to  associate  with  gentlemen.  I  managed  to 
get  John  away  that  time,  but  after  dinner  he  and  Barnard  had  it 
out.  Macallan  behaved  so  improperly  at  the  table,  that  Aunt 
Anne  had  to  reprove  him,  and  at  last  told  Barnard  "  to  take  Mr. 
Macallan  out  with  him,  as  he  was  evidently  not  well."  We  were 
all  four  out  in  the  park  in  the  evening,  and  before  we  came  in 
John  had  thrashed  both  of  them.  The  Scotchman  could  not  use 
his  fists  at  all,  but  Barnard  fought  pretty  well.  John  is  such  a 
tiger  when  he  is  in  a  rage  that  all  the  school  boys  are  afraid  of 
him  5  but  he  is  not  a  bit  quarrelsome,  and  only  had  four  fights  last 
half.  I  had  more  than  that  myself. 

I  don't  think  Aunt  Anne  will  allow  Barnard  to  invite  his  friend 
to  Harwood  House  any  more.  It  surprises  me  that  Alice  should 
see  anything  to  admire  in  him ;  but  she  accompanies  him  and  Bar- 
nard on  all  sorts  of  expeditions,  whenever  Aunt  Anne  will  allow 
her  to  go.  I  wish  you  would  not  send  me  any  more  cheques,  dear 
Uncle,  until  I  ask  you  for  them.  I  have  more  money  now  than  I 
know  what  to  do  with.  If  you  had  not  forbidden  it,  I  should  like 
to  divide  my  surplus  cash  between  John  and  Barnard ;  but  Alice 
is  my  banker,  and  she  has  ever  so  many  guineas  of  mine  now 
stowed  away  for  hard  times. 

Your  affectionate  nephew, 

ALLEN  HARWOOD. 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  107 

LETTER     IV. 

LONDON,  November  1,1800. 
To  Master  BARNARD  HARWOOD,  Linmuir,  near  Glasgow,  Scotland. 

Sir : — I  see  no  impropriety  in  answering  the  questions  you  put  in 
your  letter  of  15th  ultimo.  There  is  no  need  to  mark  communica- 
tions of  this  sort  "  private  and  confidential,"  inasmuch  as  all  let- 
ters addressed  to  lawyers  upon  private  business  are  so  regarded. 
There  is  no  entail.  Sir  Herbert  has  full  control  of  his  property. 
If,  however,  he  should  die  without  a  will,  the  estate,  or  that  por- 
tion of  it  which  your  uncle  received  by  inheritance,  would  descend, 
first,  to  your  cousin  Allen,  next  to  your  cousin  John,  and  lastly  to 
yourself.  You  young  gentlemen  occupy  precisely  the  same  posi- 
tion with  regard  to  the  estate  as  that  occupied  by  your  respective 
fathers.  Lady  Harwood's  annuity  would  probably  absorb  about 
one-half  of  the  revenues.  In  regard  to  Miss  Alice  More,  there  has 
never  been  any  formal  and  legal  adoption,  and  I  presume  Sir  Her- 
bert's will  would  make  provision  for  her.  She  is  the  daughter  of 
a  brother  officer  of  Captain  Harwood's,  who  was  killed  in  battle, 
when  both  he  and  Captain  Harwood  were  lieutenants.  She  has 
no  inheritance  whatever,  that  I  know  of.  If  Sir  Herbert  had  made 
a  will,  and  the  instrument  was  in  my  charge,  you  are  aware  that 
I  could  not  with  propriety  reveal  to  any  one  any  of  its  provisions. 

I  am,  sir,  very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT, 

Solicitor,  <&c. 

LETTER     Y. 

H.  M.  S.  ORPHEUS,  > 

OFF  MALTA,  December  10,  1800.  J 

To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  London. 

My  dear  Anne : — I  have  only  time  to  write  a  line  by  the  Chester, 
and  that  is  to  announce  that  the  Orpheus  follows  in  her  wake.  I 
received  my  orders  to-day,  and  shall  set  sail  for  old  England  to- 
morrow. The  Chester  will  beat  us  a  week  or  more.  I  shall  go  di- 
rect to  London,  and  thence  to  Harwood  House.  If  these  plaguey 
orders  had  only  come  a  month  sooner,  I  might  have  eaten  Christ- 
mas dinner  with  you. 

Your  devoted  husband, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


103  HAEWOOD. 

LETTER     VI. 

LONDON,  December  20,  1800. 
To  BARNARD  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Linmuir,  near  Glasgow,  Scotland. 

Sir : — I  am  not  in  possession  of  any  information  in  regard  to 
a  settlement  of  £5,000  upon  you  or  upon  Miss  More.  If  Sir  Her- 
bert lias  made,  or  intends  to  make  any  such  settlement,  he  has 
kept  the  matter  entirely  to  himself.  I  would  respectfully  suggest, 
if  you  deem  it  advisable  and  proper  to  institute  an  investigation 
on  this  subject,  that  you  direct  your  inquiries  to  your  uncle  him- 
self. While  your  motives  may  be  perfectly  justifiable,  you  at  least 
lay  yourself  liable  to  unfavourable  impressions,  produced  upon  the 
minds  of  your  friends,  by  your  continued  attempts  to  obtain  the 
information  you  want,  outside  of  your  own  family. 

I  am,  sir,  very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT, 

/Solicitor,  &c. 

LETTER     VII. 

LONDON,  December  20,  1800. 

To  BARNARD  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Linmuir,  near  Glasgow,  Scotland. 
Sir : — We  never  reveal  the  condition  of  any  of  our  accounts  to 
second  parties.     Should  Sir  Herbert  Harwood  desire  to  know  the 
balance  in  our  hands,  he  must,  under  our  invariable  rules,  apply 
to  us  directly,  or  through  his  known  solicitor,  Titus  Parchment, 
Esq. 
We  are,  sir,  very  respectfully,  yours, 

GARY,  BULLION  &  Co., 

Bankers. 

LETTER     VIII. 

HARWOOD  HOUSE,  December  21, 1800. 

To  BARNARD  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Linmuir,  near  Glasgow,  Scotland. 
Dear  Barnard : — We  are  all  surprised,  and  some  of  us  grieved, 
that  you  should  decide  to  be  absent  at  Christmas.  Mother  thinks 
it  possible  that  father  may  be  home,  as  we  know  that  his  ship  has 
been  ordered  to  Portsmouth.  Lord  Morton  says  he  may  be  here 
any  day  now.  I  burnt  your  letter  to  me,  as  you  requested.  Are 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  109 

you  sure  that  you  know  your  own  heart  on  that  subject  ?  I  am 
too  old  for  you,  Barnard  ;  five  years  older  than  you  are,  and  you 
are  only  fifteen.  If  it  were  possible  to  get  your  uncle's  consent  to 
such  a  marriage,  you  would  have  to  wait  at  least  six  years,  and 
then  I  would  be  twenty-six.  I  do  love  you  very  dearly,  certainly, 
but  I  have  never  thought  of  you  as  a  possible  husband.  Do  you 
know  that  I  shall  have  positively  no  fortune  at  all  I  My  poor  father 
had  nothing  but  his  pay,  and  all  that  I  have  had  since  his  death 
I  have  received  from  my  second  father,  Sir  Herbert.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  he  would  give  me  a  portion,  if  I  married  with  his  consent, 
but  I  am  sure  he  would  think  your  proposal  to  engage  yourself  to 
me  nothing  else  than  insanity.  I  am  not  mistaken  about  the 
£5,000  laid  aside  for  you  and  your  cousins.  I  saw  one  of  father's 
letters,  in  which  he  said  he  had  put  this  sum  away  for  each  of  you. 
You  will  have  to  return  to  us  before  long,  as  your  uncle  will  cer- 
tainly be  home  within  a  month.  We  will  talk  further  about  your 
absurd  proposals,  when  you  come. 

Affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  MORE. 


LETTER     IX. 

LONDON,  June  1,1801. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

Dear  Sir  Herbert : — I  am  very  happy  to  address  you  under  your 
new  title,  which,  I  see  by  the  papers,  has  at  last  been  conferred 
upon  you.  You  will  allow  an  old  friend  to  say  that  he  is  disap- 
pointed. I  expected  you  to  change  your  knighthood  for  something 
better  than  a  baronetcy.  However,  it  may  be  only  a  stepping 
stone.  I  have  obeyed  your  instructions,  and  have  taken  a  thous- 
and shares  of  Wheal  Pentland  in  the  name  of  your  nephew,  Mr. 
Allen  Harwood.  Your  cheque  for  £5,000  exactly  pays  for  the 
stock.  I  hope  his  trip  to  Cornwall  has  not  damaged  his  intellect. 
Though  as  you  require  me  to  keep  the  secret  of  this  investment, 
perhaps  he  don't  know  how  rich  he  is  to  be.  I  have  filed  the  cer- 
tificate with  your  other  papers  in  my  possession.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  say  (in  confidence)  that  your  nephew,  Barnard,  will  be  all 
the  better  for  your  presence  in  England,  if  you  will  keep  him  out 
of  bad  company  ? 

Faithfully  your  friend  and  servant, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT. 


110  HAEWOOD. 

LETTER    X. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  LOUISIANA,  May  1, 1803. 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Anne : — We  are  back  in  this  Frenchified  city,  after  a 
regular  cruise  up  the  muddy  river  on  which  it  stands.  John  is  so 
infatuated  that  he  declares  his  desire  to  remain  here  all  his  life.  I 
have  been  with  him  I  don't  know  how  far  up  the  river,  and  have 
bought  him  a  lot  of  land  back  in  the  country.  It  is  pretty  much 
wilderness  now,  and  I  must  admit  that  it  is  very  beautiful.  He 
has  called  it  "  Harwood."  It  has  cost  a  good  lot  of  money,  though 
the  property  dealers  here  say  it  was  a  great  bargain.  I  have  con- 
sented to  let  him  remain  here,  as  he  is  so  eager  to  begin  to  work 
his  "plantation."  By-the-bye,  John  is  an  American  citizen  by 
birth,  you  know.  I  wonder  if  that  will  account  for  his  preference 
for  this  half-civilized  country !  My  poor  brother,  who  was  sent  to 
Canada  on  some  public  business,  contracted  the  disease  of  which 
he  died  in  that  cold  latitude,  and  his  wife  died  in  the  States  when 
John  was  born.  John  has  resumed  his  law  studies,  and  will- re- 
main in  this  city  most  of  his  time,  until  he  passes  his  examination. 
He  expects  to  be  "admitted"  in  two  years.  There  are  not  so 
many  formalities  to  get  through  with,  and  I  suppose  the  examina- 
tion is  not  so  rigid  here  as  at  home.  The  birth  of  my  son  and 
heir  has  not  affected  the  prospects  of  any  of  the  boys,  except 
Allen,  who  has  a  small  fortune  already,  though  he  does  not  know 
it.  Do  you  remember  that  he  came  from  Cornwall  two  years  ago, 
with  flaming  accounts  of  some  copper  mines?  I  invested  his 
£5,000  in  mining  stock,  and  it  has  more  than  doubled  in  value 
already.  I  intend  to  keep  this  secret  till  all  of  them  are  of  age. 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  give  up  my  project  of  getting  Barnard 
into  the  Navy,  as  he  seems  to  have  no  bias  in  that  direction. 
But  as  he  has  become  so  steady  and  well  behaved  he  shall  choose 
his  own  profession.  If  the  predictions  of  the  knowing  ones  of 
New  Orleans  may  be  relied  upon,  John's  fortune  is  also  made,  as 
the  prospective  value  of  his  estate  up  the  river  is  enormous. 

I  am  happy  to  hear  such  good  accounts  of  my  youngster,  the 
future  Sir  Charles.  Since  I  have  acquired  a  title  to  transmit,  I 
may  as  well  give  it  to  the  embryo  baronet  in  advance.  I  hope 
he  will  value  it  as  lightly  as  his  father  does. 

Your  devoted  husband, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  Ill 

LETTER     XI. 

LONDON,  July  10, 1804. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Sir  Herbert : — Witli  this  I  send  by  special  messenger 
the  lead-covered  box  containing  the  ancient  coins  and  jewelry; 
the  box  has  probably  never  been  opened  since  it  was  bequeathed 
to  Mr.  Allen's  mother  until  to-day,  when  I  took  an  inventory  of 
its  contents.  Some  of  the  diamonds  must  be  of  great  value,  and 
the  coins  are  also  very  rare  and  would  fetch  double  their  weight 
in  guineas  any  day.  You  will  remember  that  the  box  was  sent  to 
me  from  the  executors  of  Lady  Denham,  for  transmission  to  Mrs. 
Lacy  Harwood,  who  died  before  the  packet  was  sent.  Since  that 
sad  event  I  have  had  charge  of  it,  keeping  it  by  your  directions 
as  guardian,  until  Mr.  Allen  should  attain  his  majority.  The  only 
other  property  belonging  to  the  estate  of  Lacy  Harwood,  Esq.,  or 
rather  to  his  son  and  heir,  Mr.  Allen,  is  the  certificate  of  1,000 
shares  of  Wheal  Pentland.  I  have  enclosed  this  certificate  in  the 
box  also,  with  the  inventory  of  jewels  and  coins.  The  key  is  fast- 
ened to  one  of  the  handles,  and  the  box  has  been  sewed  up  in  a 
strong  linen  case  by  Mrs.  Parchment  under  my  supervision.  I 
have  also  inclosed  it  in  thick  outside  wrappings,  corded  it  and 
sealed  it.  If  you  receive  it  with  the  seals  intact,  you  can  rely 
upon  the  safety  of  the  contents. 

Very  sincerely,  your  friend  and  obed't  serv't, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT. 

(The  following  was  written  in  Sir  Herbert's  hand  at  the  bottom 
of  this  letter:) 

I  have  not  opened  the  box.  It  is  on  the  hypothenuse  just  nine 
feet  from  its  juncture  with  the  base. 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 

April  30,  1808. 

LETTER     XII. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  May  10, 1808. 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  Harwood  House,  Essex,  England. 

My  dearest  Anne  .-—Allen  and  I  will  return  to  England  by  the 
next  packet.  John  is  fairly  settled  on  his  plantation,  living  in  a 
comfortable  log  house,  which  he  affirms  to  be  superior  in  accom- 
modation to  all  the  buildings  in  this  city.  He  is  practising  law, 


112  HARWOOD. 

and  is  very  popular  with  his  neighbours.  I  have  not  bought  a 
plantation  for -Allen,  as  I  cannot  discover  that  he  has  the  slightest 
desire  to  possess  one.  He  has  enjoyed  himself  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, with  John  and  his  friends,  hunting  wild  beasts  in  the  country 
back  of  "  Harwood,"  and  narrowly  escaping  with  his  life  in  two 
separate  encounters,  one  with  a  bear,  the  other  with  an  Indian. 
The  latter  adventure  however  happened  on  the  west  bank  of  the 
big  river.  He  shall  tell  you  and  Alice  the  story  himself.  I  have 
kept  the  secret  of  his  little  fortune  from  him,  and  everybody  else 
excepting  you  and  Parchment.  I  wished  him  to  come  to  some 
decision  about  his  future  before  I  put  him  in  possession.  I  think 
this  is  the  last  trip  I  shall  take  in  this  direction.  I  was  compelled 
by  circumstances  to  put  Allen's  lead-covered  box  in  a  place  of 
security,  and  have  made  a  memorandum  on  Parchment's  letter, 
which  I  will  explain  to  you  when  I  get  home. 

If  you  should  be  correct  in  your  suspicion  that  Macailan  wishes 
to  marry  Alice,  I  shall  be  glad  to  give  my  consent.  The  lad  has 
become  quite  steady,  and  with  a  good  wife  like  Alice  (who  is  too 
old  for  him,  though),  he  will  become  settled.  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  Barnard  has  given  up  his  boyish  notion.  The  birth  of  my 
two  boys  has  made  some  change  necessary  in  my  intentions,  but 
I  still  propose  to  give  Barnard  a  good  start  in  life.  He  is  quite 
old  enough  now  to  make  up  his  mind. 

Tour  devoted  husband, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


LETTER    XIII. 

LrNMUiR,  August  1,  1808. 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  Lady  : — Can  you  spare  dear  Alice  for  a  few  weeks  ?  I  have 
set  my  heart  upon  having  her  with  me  while  the  young  gentlemen 
are  here.  Macailan  expects  Mr.  Barnard  about  the  middle  of  the 
month.  If  he  comes,  and  you  can  oblige  me  so  much,  he  can 
escort  Miss  More.  I  would  offer  my  son's  services,  as  he  is  now 
in  London,  but  suppose  you  would  prefer  the  other  arrangement. 
I  will  promise  to  allow  her  to  return  at  whatever  time  your  lady- 
ship may  appoint. 

I  am  your  ladyship's  servant, 

HESTER  MACAELAN. 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  113 

LETTER    XIV. 

LONDON,  August  3,  1808. 
To  BARNARD  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

Mon  Cher : — My  mother  is  going  to  invite  Miss  Alice  to  Lin- 
mtiir,  and  as  I  am  so  disreputable  a  scamp  she  will  arrange  for 
you  to  attend  her  to  Glasgow.  You  are  to  go  down  on  the  15th. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  learn  anything  from  the  old  wretch  of  a 
lawyer.  Denham  was  with  me  when  I  called  on  him.  He  was 
speering  about  some  lead-covered  box  which  was  left  by  will  to 
your  dear  Uncle.  Lacy's  widow  by  his  stepmother.  Denham  is 
such  a  close  fellow  that  I  could  not  pump  much  out  of  him,  but  I 
think  he  claims  some  jewels,  which  he  affirms  were  in  the  box, 
and  which  he  says  were  "  family  jewels,"  and  not  in  her  power  to 
bequeath.  The  lawyer  gave  us  no  satisfaction  j  he  did  not  even 
admit  the  receipt  of  the  box,  and  referred  Denham  to  his  mother's 
executors.  From  the  few  hints  he  dropped,  I  conclude  that  Den- 
ham was  about  as  fond  of  his  stepmother  as  the  devil  is  of  holy 
water,  or  as  you  are  of  your  cousin  John.  Sir  Herbert  and  your 
nice  cousin  Allen  will  be  here  in  a  week,  and  old  Parchment 
politely  invited  me  to  reserve  my  inquiries  till  they  arrived  ! 

I  am.  off  to  Linmuir  to-morrow. 

Yours,  MACALLAN. 


LET  TER    XV. 

LONDON,  August  4, 1808. 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Lady  Anne : — Although  Sir  Herbert  will  be  here  in  a 
few  days,  I  think  it  advisable  to  notify  you  that  I  have  been  ap- 
plied to  by  the  son  of  Sir  Mark  Denham,  who  claims  some  prop- 
erty (personal)  which  was  bequeathed  to  Mrs.  Lacy  Harwood  by 
Lady  Denham,  the  stepmother  of  this  young  man.  It  is  possible 
that  he  may  apply  to  you  in  Sir  Herbert's  absence,  and  I  only 
wish  to  say  that  the  claim  is  entirely  ridiculous.  It  is  well  known 
that  Sir  Mark  Denham  married  his  second  wife  solely  for  money, 
and  it  is  also  well  known  that  every  pound  of  her  property  was 
settled  upon  her.  I  drew  the  marriage  settlement  myself.  There 
has  never  been  any  controversy  about  her  real  estate,  which  went 

8 


114  HARWOOD. 

to  her  heir-at-law,  or  about  her  money,  stocks,  etc.,  which  were 
distributed  according  to  the  provisions  of  her  will.  Nobody  knew 
anything  about  the  contents  of  this  particular  box  until  I  opened 
it  at  Sir  Herbert's  request,  about  four  years  ago.  It  is  as  clearly 
Allen's  property  as  his  coat  is.  If  this  young  Denhara  should 
apply  to  you,  I  would  respectfully  advise  that  you  give  him  no 
information  whatever.  I  can  imagine  no  possible  way  by  whicli 
he  could  learn  that  the  box  contained  any  articles  of  value  except 
through  Sir  Herbert  or  some  member  of  his  household.  Should 
Sir  Herbert  go  to  Harwood  House  before  I  see  him,  please  show 
him  this  letter 

With  great  respect,  your  ladyship's  obedient  servant, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT, 

Solicitor,  etc. 


LETTER    XVI. 

LONDON,  10th  August,  1808. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

Sir : — In  reply  to  your  inquiry,  left  at  our  banking  house  last 
night,  we  have  to  inform  you  that  the  exact  balance  standing  at 
your  credit  is  £11,080  18s.  4d. 

Yery  respectfully  yours, 

GARY,  BULLION  &  Co., 

Bankers. 

—- 

TTER    XVII. 


LONDON,  2Sth  September,  1808. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

Sir: — Your  cheque  for  £1,000  to  order  of  Mr.  Allen  Harwood 
was  presented  by  that  gentleman  yesterday  and  paid.  According 
to  our  invariable  rule,  we  hereby  notify  you  that  your  account  is 
overdrawn  to  the  amount  of  £224  6s.  Sd.  The  dividends  that  will 
be  paid  in  on  1st  proximo  will,  however,  place  your  account 
largely  in  credit. 

Yery  respectfully  yours, 

GARY,  BULLION  &  Co., 

Bankers. 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  115 

LETTE  R    XVIII. 

LONDON,  September  28,  1808. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwoocl  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Uncle : — The  ship  will  sail  this  forenoon,  and  I  write 
this  on  board.  I  have  drawn  the  money  for  the  cheque,  and  have 
it  now  buckled  around  my  waist.  As  soon  as  we  get  fairly  out  at 
sea  I  shall  place  it  in  my  trunk,  as  the  weight  of  the  belt  makes 
it  a  very  undesirable  part  of  my  dress.  My  dear,  kind  uncle,  I 
may  not  live  to  see  you  again,  and  I  would  not  willingly  die  with- 
out saying  how  deeply  I  feel  all  your  kindness  to  me.  I  know 
from  Aunt  Anne  that  you  intended  me  to  be  your  successor  in 
the  possession  of  Harwood  House  and  of  most  of  the  fortune 
you  have  added  to  your  original  inheritance.  I  know  you  will  be- 
lieve me  when  I  say  that  I  rejoice  with  all  my  heart  that  those 
plans  of  yours  were  disarranged  by  the  birth  of  my  dear  little 
cousins,  Charles  and  Allen.  And  now  I  am  going  to  communicate 
an  old  secret  to  you.  You  know  that  I  accumulated  a  consider- 
able quantity  of  guineas  in  the  hands  of  my  trusty  banker,  Alice; 
well,  after  I  came  from  Cornwall,  seven  years  ago,  I  took  this 
money  and  invested  it  all  in  Wheal  Pentland.  I  sold  out  yester- 
day, and  there  is  another  thousand  pounds  in  my  belt,  besides 
your  munificent  gift.  So  you  see,  dear  uncle,  that  I  am  rich.  I 
tell  you  the  secret  now  because  I  know  you  will  be  better  satisfied 
to  allow  your  estate  to  go  to  the  boys  unincumbered  with  any  un- 
necessary legacies.  Barnard  told  me  you  had  laid  aside  a  sum 
for  each  of  us,  but  as  I  am  already  provided  for  so  amply,  you  can 
mark  me  off.  You  cannot  obliterate  the  lessons  I  have  learned 
from  your  example,  uncle,  nor  can  you  take  back  the  education 
you  have  given  me. 

What  do  you  think  of  my  having  a  young  lady  confided  to  my 
care,  all  tjie  way  to  Calcutta  ?  She  is  the  orphan  daughter  of  a 
dissenting  minister,  who  died  here  six  or  eight  months  ago.  She 
has  an  uncle  in  India,  who  has  invited  her  to  his  home,  and  her 
friends  here  are  now  in  the  cabin  with  her.  They  introduced  me 
a  little  while  ago.  She  is  very  pretty  and  interesting,  and  I  mean 
to  fall  in  love  with  her  during  the  voyage.  Her  name  is  Miss 
Devere. 

I  am  just  informed  that  the  steamboat  is  about  to  leave  the 
ship.  Good-bye,  my  dear  uncle. 

Your  attached  nephew, 

ALLEN  HARWOOD. 


116  HAEWOOD. 

LETTER    XIX. 

LONDON,  October  3,  1808. 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Anne : — I  have  only  time  to  write  a  line.  It  is  a  for- 
gery of  ono  cheque  for  £10,000.  I  start  for  Scotland  by  the  coach 
in  five  iniuuteis.  Your  devoted  husband, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


LETTER     XX. 

GLASGOW,  October  10,  1808. 
To  LADY  ANNE  HARWOOD,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Wife : — The  news  I  have  to  communicate  to  you  will 
plunge  you  into  .affliction.  I  cannot  doubt  any  longer  that  Bar- 
nard and  Alice  have  conspired  to  perpetrate  a  most  infamous 
.crime.  When  I  reached  London  last  week  I  went  directly  to  the 
bank,  and  demanded  a  sight  of  the  cheques  I  had  drawn  since 
they  furnished  me  with  their  last  statement.  All  were  right  ex- 
cepting one  for  £10,000.  This  cheque  was  a  remarkably  correct 
imitation  of  my  hand,  and  I  should  not  think  of  doubting  the  sig- 
nature if  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  never  drawn  such  a  cheque. 
It  is  payable  to  Barnard  Har wood's  order,  and  endorsed  by  him. 
I  asked  no  questions  at  the  bank,  but  went  directly  to  Parchment 
and  stated  the  case.  He  recommended  me  to  start  at  once  for 
Glasgow,  and  recover  the  money  from  my  nephew,  without  making 
any  stir.  It  would  kill  me  if  the  boy's  villany  should  be  generally 
known.  I  met  Mr.  Macailan  at  the  coach  office  in  this  town,  and 
he  informed  me  that  Barnard  and  Alice  were  married  before  they 
arrived  at  Linmuir  together; — that  they  had  gone  to  London 
after  spending  a  few  days  with  them,  and  had  taken  passage  for 
Leghorn.  He  knew  nothing  about  Barnard's  supply  of  money, 
except  that  he  declined  a  loan  which  the  Scotchman  says  he 
offered  him.  Barnard  told  him  that  he  could  not  live  without 
Alice,  and  that  I  had  violently  opposed  their  union,  so  they  were 
forced  to  abscond. 

How  much  of  this  account  is  true  I  cannot  determine.  I  know 
that  part  of  it  is  false.  Lord  Morton  has  been  here  jus.t  a  week, 
and  he  saw  Barnard  and  talked  with  him  since  his  arrival  at  Glas- 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS,  117 

gow.  He  informs  me  that  Barnard  and  Alice  were  staying  at  the 
same  inn  with  him.  I  have  been  there  and  found  his  portfolio, 
containing  a  number  of  letters.  I  suppose  he  left  it  in  the  hurry 
of  his  departure.  I  shall  remain  a  few  days,  and  if  I  discover  no 
satisfactory  traces  of  them  I  intend  to  return  to  London  and  get 
Parchment  to  put  one  of  his  bloodhounds  on  the  scent — only  to 
discover  the  whereabouts  of  the  unhappy  pair,  however.  I  shall 
acknowledge  the  cheque.  They  have  only  stolen  that  which  I 
have  long  intended  to  give  them ;  but  their  heartless  disregard  of 
you  and  me,  and  of  the  name  they  bear,  cuts  me  to  the  quick. 

Your  devoted  husband, 

HERBERT  HARWOOD. 


LETTER     XXI. 

LONDON,  December  2,  1808. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Sir  Herbert : — My  clerk,  Mr.  Blinker,  has  just  returned 
from  Scotland,  and  I  hasten  to  lay  before  you  the  result  of  his  in- 
vestigations, premising  that  you  may  rely  upon  the  accuracy  of 
his  statements,  and  the  soundness  of  his  deductions.  My  instruc- 
tions to  him,  which  have  been  faithfully  observed,  precluded  the 
possibility  of  exciting  any  suspicions  upon  the  minds  of  the  parties 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact ;  and  now  that  the  facts  are  elicited, 
there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  any  one  will  ever  hear  of  the 
transactions,  excepting  those  immediately  concerned.  I  have  in- 
structed Mr.  Blinker  to  furnish  me  with  a  written  statement  of  his 
proceedings,  and  I  now  enclose  that  statement.  You  have  only 
to  account  for  your  nephew's  marriage  and  absence  from  Eng- 
land, and  I  presume  you  have  already  decided  to  allow  the  simple 
truth  on  this  point  to  go  to  the  world,  namely :  that  your  nephew, 
having  married  contrary  to  your  express  wishes,  has  gone  abroad 
with  his  bride,  having  received  the  portions  you  had  laid  aside  for 
both  himself  and  your  adopted  daughter. 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir  Herbert,  very  faithfully  your  friend  and  ser- 
vant, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT. 

P.  S. — I  beg  you  to  observe  that  I  have  taken  my  son,  Alfred 
Parchment,  into  partnership,  as  indicated  in  the  annexed  circular. 
In  any  emergency,  during  my  absence  from  London,  you  may  safcly 
intrust  to  him  any  business  that  would  be  confided  to  his  father. 


118  HAEWOOD. 


LETTEK     XXII. 

To  TITUS  PARCHMENT,  Esq.,  Solicitor,  &c.,  London. 

Honoured  Sir  : — In  re,  Sir  H.  H.  and  others.  Acting  under  your 
instructions  (verbal),  I  have  obtained  all  the  information  you  re- 
quired concerning  the  payment  of  a  cheque  for  £10,000  drawn  by 
the  aforesaid  Sir  H.  H.  to  the  order  of,  and  endorsed  by  Mr.  B. 
H.,  and  also  concerning  the  subsequent  movements  of  the  said  B. 
H  and  others. 

My  brother,  Silas  Blinker,  is  a  clerk  in  the  banking  house  of 
C.  B.  &  Co.,  and  as  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  obtain  the  facts 
without  asking  questions  to  excite  suspicions,  I  was  compelled 
to  spend  two  consecutive  evenings  at  my  brother's  house,  and 
allow  him  to  reveal  voluntarily  all  that  I  now  proceed  to  com- 
municate. I  was  also  obliged  to  lay  three  separate  wagers  (in  a 
friendly  way),  and  to  lose  all  three,  involving  an  outlay  of  eighteen 
shillings.  This  amount  and  other  small  amounts  you  will  find  in 
the  enclosed  schedule  of  expenses. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  August,  of  the  present  year,  Sir  H.  H.'s 
coach  stopped  at  the  banking  house  before  mentioned,  at  11.10  A. 
M.  Five  shillings  were  expended  in  the  wager  relating  to  the 
accuracy  of  this  date.  Mr.  B.  H.  descended  from  the  coach,  leav- 
ing Miss  A.  M.  inside,  and  entering  the  front  office,  presented  the 
cheque,  remarking  that  he  was  in  haste,  as  he  wished  to  catch  the 
Oxford  mail,  which  started  precisely  at  noon.  The  cheque  was 
paid  as  soon  as  he  had  written  his  name  across  the  back.  The 
other  thirteen  shillings  were  expended  in  two  wagers,  one  as  to  the 
identity  of  Miss  A.  M.,  and  the  other  as  to  the  fact  that  there  was 
no  Oxford  mail  that  left  the  city  at  noon.  There  was  a  mail  to 
Uxbridge,  which  started  from  the  Eed  Ox  Inn  at  that  hour.  I 
went  on  the  third  day  direct  to  Glasgow,  according  to  your  di- 
rections, stopping  only  once,  at  Dumfries,  where  I  saw  the  mar- 
riage of  B.  H.  and  A.  M.  duly  registered,  according  to  the  Scotch 
law,  under  date  of  August  19th,  1808.  I  put  up  at  the  Thistle  Inn, 
in  Glasgow,  at  which  place  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  H.  had  spent  ten  days, 
namely :  from  the  25th  of  September  to  the  5th  of  October.  They 
had  been  to  the  wild  country  called  "  the  Highlands"  for  nearly  a 
month  previously,  and  had  spent  three  days  at  Linmuir,  before 
they  came  to  the  Thistle.  They  went  from  Glasgow  to  Liverpool, 
aud  took  passage  a*nd  sailed  in  the  ship  Tempest,  for  Baltimore,  in 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS  119 

the  United  States  of  North  America.    The  ship  sailed  on  the  llth 
of  October. 

The  most  of  this  information  I  obtained  from  the  agent  of  a 
Scotch  gentleman,  who  lives  near  Glasgow,  and  although  I  asked 
no  questions  whatever,  lie  asked  a  great  number  of  me,  and  the 
evidence  in  the  case  I  was  obliged  to  gather  from  the  inquiries  he 
propounded.  As  I  was  careful  to  corroborate  everything  by 
additional  testimony,  you  may  rely  upon  the  facts  stated. 

This  2d  day  of  December,  1808. 

Very  respectfully  your  humble  servant, 

SAMUEL  BLINKER. 


LETTER     XXIII. 

LONDON,  March  26,  1810. 
To  SIR  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  Bart.,  Harwood  House,  Essex. 

My  dear  Friend : — It  is  my  painful  duty  to  communicate  to  you 
intelligence  of  the  most  sorrowful  character.  Your  noble  nephew, 
Allen,  is  no  more.  The  account  of  the  circumstances  attending  his 
death  I  have  obtained  from  the  master  of  the  ill-fated  ship  in  which 
he  sailed  for  Calcutta.  I  know  that  you  have  long  been  ill  at  ease, 
as  no  news  of  this  vessel  has  reached  England  since  she  was  spoken 
off  the  Cape,  more  than  a  year  ago.  She  was  attacked  in  March 
of  last  year  by  a  French  privateer,  and  escaped  capture  after  an 
obstinate  fight  of  several  hours7  duration.  She  carried  four  guns, 
and  the  men  fought  with  a  valour  becoming  British  seamen.  One 
of  the  masts  of  the  privateer  was  at  last  carried  away  by  a  fortu- 
nate shot,  and  the  ludiaman  escaped  in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
But  poor  Allen  had  been  very  severely  and  probably  fatally 
wounded  early  in  the  action,  and  when  the  storm  arose  in  the 
night,  he  was  lying  helpless  in  the  cabin,  apparently  near  his  end. 
The  ship  had  been  much  damaged  by  the  Frenchman's  shot,  and 
was  altogether  unsea worthy,  when  the  master  and  crew  decided 
to  abandon  her  in  the  boats,  as  she  was  evidently  sinking.  A 
young  lady  passenger,  a  Miss  Devere,  refused  to  leave  the  wreck 
unless  Allen  was  also  taken,  and  from  the  shipmaster's  account, 
the  two  boats,  all  they  had  that  could  live  in  that  sea,  were  already 
overladen.  He  also  refused  to  forsake  the  ship,  and  the  crew, 


120  HARWOOD. 

probably  mutinous,  had  pushed  off  and  left  the  three  to  their 
fate.  Later  in  the  night,  when  the  storm  had  somewhat  abated, 
he  was  able,  with  the  young  lady's  assistance,  to  lower  the  small 
boat,  into  which  he  managed,  with  great  difficulty,  to  get  some 
water  and  provisions.  He  says  he  was  in  the  boat  stowing  the 
kegs,  when  a  sea  struck  her,  and  parted  the  line  by  which  the  boat 
was  fastened  to  the  ship.  By  the  time  he  had  got  out  his  oars  he 
had  lost  the  ship  in  the  darkness.  The  brave  fellow  endeavoured  to 
keep  near  the  vessel  until  daylight,  when  he  could  find  no  vestige 
of  the  Hesperus  in  sight.  He  admits  that  he  might  have  drifted 
to  a  considerable  distance  from  the  wreck  in  the  night,  but  says 
positively  that  she  must  have  gone  down  within  a  few  hours  after 
he  left  her  side.  He  was  picked  up  three  days  afterwards  by  the 
same  privateer,  and  was  compelled  to  do  an  ordinary  seaman's 
duty  on  board,  until  a  few  months  ago,  when  the  privateer  was 
captured  by  a  British  man-of-war.  He  came  to  London  from  Ports- 
mouth only  yesterday,  and  was  brought  to  me  by  Lord  Morton 
this  morning. 

There  are  two  facts  .connected  with  this  melancholy  story  that 
afford  some  slight  gleam  of  com  fort.  As  soon  as  the  character  of  the 
privateer  was  ascertained,  Allen  was  the  first  to  propose  a  deter- 
mined resistance ;  and  volunteering  to  assume  any  post  that  the 
master  deemed  him  competent  to  fill,  he  was  given  command  of 
one  of  the  guns,  and  fought  with  the  bravery  of  a  lion,  until  he 
was  carried  senseless  into  the  cabin.  He  fell,  my  dear  friend,  as 
you  would  have  him  fall,  fighting  the  enemies  of  his  country.  The 
other  fact  is,  that  the  intercourse  of  five  or  six  months  had  pro- 
duced a  profound  mutual  attachment  between  Allen  and  Miss 
Devere.  This  young  lady  must  have  been  a  very  superior  woman, 
well  worthy  of  the  devotion  of  such  a  man  as  Allen.  Consider, 
my  friend,  that  while  we  have  been  so  sadly  bereaved,  they  went 
through  the  dark  valley  together. 

With  great  sympathy  your  friend, 

TITUS  PARCHMENT. 


LETTER     XXIV. 

LONDON,  April  1,  1810. 

To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Baton  Rouge,  Louisiana,  U.  S.  America. 

Dear  Sir: — I  am  requested  by  Sir  Herbert  Harwood  to  write  to 

you  in  his  name,  to  inform  you  of  the  sudden  death  of  your  aunt, 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  121 

Lady  Harwood,  and  also  of  the  loss  of  the  ship  Hesperus  on  her 
voyage  to  India,  with  all  her  passengers  and  crew,  excepting  the 
master  of  the  vessel.  Your  cousin,  Allen  Harwood,  was  passen- 
ger in  this  ship.  Lady  Harwood's  health  has  been  failing  for  some 
time  past,  and  the  intelligence  of  Allen's  death  probably  hastened 
her  demise.  Under  this  double  affliction  Sir  Herbert  is  nearly  in- 
consolable. He  has  just  been  offered  the  command  of  a  ship,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  he  will  accept  the  position.  There  is  no  proba- 
bility that  the  war  will  terminate  for  years  to  come,  and  Sir  Her- 
bert will  find  in  the  active  duties  of  his  old  profession  the  most 
agreeable  deliverance  from  the  scenes  of  his  recent  sorrows.  He 
desires  me  to  convey  to  you  the  assurance  of  his  affection.  If  he 
accepts  his  appointment,  he  proposes  to  leave  his  little  boys  under 
the  joint  guardianship  of  Mr.  Titus  Parchment  and 

Your  obedient  servant, 

MORTON. 


LETTER     XXV. 

LONDON,  November  14, 1810. 
To  JOHIN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Baton  Eouge,  Louisiana,  U.  S.  America. 

My  dear  Sir: — Captain  Sir  Herbert  Harwood  died  on  30th 
ultimo,  of  wounds  received  in  a  naval  engagement,  off  Cape  de  la 
Hogue.  By  his  will  I  am.  instructed  to  send  you  his  writing  desk 
and  contents,  which  will  go  by  the  packet  that  sails  from  Liverpool 
to  New  Orleans  on  20th  instant.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Sir 
Herbert  had  a  presentiment  of  his  approaching  death,  from,  the 
papers  I  find  since  I  have  entered  upon  my  duties  as  executor.  The 
present  baronet,  Sir  Charles,  and  his  brother,  are  with  Lady  Mor- 
ton in  Devonshire.  Please  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  the  writing 
desk.  If  you  happen  to  know  the  address  of  your  cousin  Barnard, 
who  has. never  been  heard  from  since  his  marriage  and  departure 
for  Leghorn,  will  you  please  inform  him  of  the  death  of  your 
lamented  uncle?  I  have  sealed  up  the  desk,  and  know  nothing  of 
its  contents. 

Yery  sincerely  your  obedient  servant, 

MORTON. 


122  HARWOOD. 

LETTER    XXVI. 

LINMUIR,  NEAR  GLASGOW,  February  6,  1811. 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Baton  Rouge,  Louisiana,  U.  S.  A. 

Sir  : — I  received  your  communication  dated  December  26, 1810, 
and  have  at  last  concluded  to  notice  it.  I  am,  however,  at  a  loss 
to  conceive  by  what  right  you  have  addressed  me  on  this  subject, 
or  any  other.  I  know  nothing  whatever  of  the  movements  of  Mr. 
Barnard  Harwood.  He  told  me,  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  that  he 
was  going  to  Leghorn.  He  may  have  gone  there,  or  to  the  States, 
or  to  the  devil,  which  is  about  the  same  thing,  in  my  opinion.  As 
you  appear  to  have  adopted  that  contemptible  country,  you  will 
probably  not  agree  with  me. 

Yours,  HECTOR  MACALLAN, 

of  Linmuir. 


LETTER    XXVII. 

LONDON,  14^  May,  1811. 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Baton  Eouge,  Louisiana,  U.  S.  A. 

Dear  Sir : — In  looking  carefully  over  the  memoranda  Jeft  by  my 
father,  who  was  very  methodical  and  precise,  I  can  find  nothing 
about  the  box  you  mention,  excepting  the  following  entries  in  his 
"  estate  book."  I  give  you  the  entries  entire: 

"  June  8th,  1785.  Received  of  William  Lipscomb  and  Thomas 
Dale,  executors  of  Lady  Denham,  widow  of  Sir  Mark  Denhain, 
Kt.,  one  box,  covered  with  sheet  lead,  contents  unknown,  for 
transfer  to  Mrs.  Lacy  Harwood,  widow,  to  whom  said  box  was  be- 
queathed by  said  Lady  Denham." 

"  June  10th,  1785.  Mrs.  Lacy  Harwood  died  at  Harwood  House 
on  8th  instant.  I  am  directed  by  Sir  Herbert  Harwood,  Kt.,  and 
Captain  R.  N.,  to  retain  the  box  in  my  possession,  it  being  now 
the  property  of  Allen  Harwood,  infant  son  of  Mrs.  Lacy  Harwood, 
deceased." 

"  July  10th,  1804.  Sent  the  above  mentioned  box  to  Sir  Her- 
bert Harwood,  Bart.,  by  the  hands  of  Samuel  Blinker,  having 
taken  inventory  of  contents  by  Sir  Herbert's  directions.  Invent- 
ory enclosed  in  the  box  with  other  papers  belonging  to  Allen 
Harwood,  Esq." 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  123 

These  are  all  the  memoranda  on  the  subject.  In  regard  to  any 
claim  that  may  be  set  up  by  Mr.  Mark  Denham,  I  happen  to  know 
that  all  the  property,  real  and  personal,  of  Lady  Denhain,  was  en- 
tirely at  her  own  disposal,  and  could  not  have  been  inherited  by 
her  stepson,  even  if  there  had  been  no  will. 

I  am,  sir,  very  respectfully  yours, 

ALFRED  PARCHMENT, 

Solicitor,  etc. 


LETTER    XXVIII. 

BALTIMORE,  May  11, 1811. 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Baton  Eouge,  La. 

Dear  Sir  : — There  is  no  such  person  as  Barnard  Harwood  resid- 
ing in  this  city,  nor  has  there  been  for  the  past  ten  years,  unless 
he  moved  in  the  humblest  circles.  I  have  examined  the  marine 
lists  for  the  year  1808,  and  no  ship  of  the  name  you  mention  en- 
tered our  port  in  that  year.  Please  remit  me  twenty  dollars, 
which  will  cover  all  the  expenses  of  the  search. 

Yery  respectfully,  yours,  etc., 

THOMAS  E.  SMITH, 

Attorney -at-Law. 


LETTER    XXIX. 


ORLEANS,  La.,  May  3,  1812. 
r  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Baton  Eouge,  La. 

ar  Harwood  :  —  We  are  as  certain  to  have  war,  within  a 
ths,  as  that  we  live.  There  is  no  remedy.  I  am  making 
all  my  preparations  to  move  to  Manahio,  and  shall  be  able  to  get 
a  weekly  mail,  at  least,  to  the  village,  Carrville.  Let  us  decide 
to  go  quietly  to  work  on  our  plantations  and  wait  for  this  storm 
to  pass.  I  have  a  young  son,  who  made  his  appearance  a  few 
weeks  ago.  I  wanted  to  give  him  your  name3  but  my  wife  is  ob- 
stinate, and  insists  that  he  shall  bear  his  father's.  There  will  be 
no  law  business,  either  here  or  at  Baton  Eouge,  that  will  be  of 
sufficient  importance  to  us  to  keep  us  away  from  home.  Don't 
think  of  the  folly  of  building  your  house  this  year,  and  don't  delay 


124  HAEWOOD. 

your  marriage  on  account  of  the  small  dimensions  of  your  present 
domicile  at  Harwood.  Your  house  is  better  than  nine- tenths  of 
the  country  houses  in  this  State. 

Yours,  very  truly, 

CHARLES  CARR. 

P.  S. — Maltby  has  just  been  in  and  informed  me  of  your  inten- 
tion to  take  the  above  advice  before  you  get  it.  He  says  you  will 
be  married  this  month,  and  that  you  intend  to  go  direct  to  Har- 
wood. Accept  my  congratulations,  which  are  about  as  much  in 
advance  as  my  good  counsel  will  be  in  arrears. 


LETTER    XXX. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  October  ~L7th,  1831. 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  Carrville,  La. 

My  dear  Harwood : — Allow  me  to  introduce  to  your  acquaintance 
the  bearer  of  this  letter,  Mr.  Edward  Delaney,  late  of  Pensacola, 
Florida.  He  has  some  business  to  transact  in  your  neighbourhood, 
and  I  shall  gratefully  acknowledge  any  attentions  you  may  be 
able  to  show  him.  He  is  a  distant  relation  of  my  wife's  family, 
or  at  least  she  supposes  he  is,  as  she  is  related  to  the  Delaneys, 
some  of  whom  reside  in  the  Flowery  State.  I  think  Mr.  Delaney 
wishes  to  gain  some  information  from  you  relative  to  the  two 
abolitionists  who  were  hanged  near  Carrville  last  summer. 

Yery  truly  yours, 

FRANK  MALTBY. 


LETTER    XXXI. 

PENSACOLA,  Fla.,  January  10, 1832. 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  State's  Attorney,  etc.,  Carrville,  La. 

My  dear  Friend : — There  is  a  Scotchman,  named  Gowrie,  who 
has  some  sort  of  a  mercantile  establishment  in  Carrville,  who  can 
tell  you  more  about  Mr.  Delauey  than  I  can.  He  lived  here  eight 
or  ten  years,  and  I  am  comparatively  a  newcomer.  I  have  heard, 
however,  that  he  is  a  widower  and  appears  to  be  rich.  He  plays 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  125 

high,  and  wins,  generally.  There  is  some  rumour  about  his  hav- 
ing committed  acts  of  great  cruelty  among  the  Indians  in  the 
Everglades,  where  he  had  an  indigo  plantation,  probably  five  or 
six  years  ago.  He  sold  out  there,  I  am  told,  because  an  Indian 
chief  had  a  fierce  quarrel  with  him  and  his  life  was  in  danger. 
Those  Seininoles  are  becoming  very  troublesome.  Don't  get  into 
any  quarrel  with  Delaney.  He  is  a  bad  fellow,  when  crossed,  and 
very  prompt  with  his  pistol.  He  shot  the  Indian  I  mentioned 
above,  upon  small  provocation,  and  wounded  him  very  severely, 
thus  exciting  the  enmity  of  a  whole  tribe,  and  making  the  neigh- 
bourhood too  hot  for  himself  and  very  uncomfortable  to  the  other 
planters.  He  is  here  very  rarely  now-a-days,  and  seems  to  come 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  his  wife's  grave.  He  has  no 
children.  Yours  sincerely, 

BICHARD  TALBOT. 

LETTER  XXXII. 


ORLEANS,  April  3d,  1832. 
To  JOHN  HARWOOD,  Esq.,  State's  Attorney,  etc.,  Carrville,  La. 

Dear  Sir: — I  have  found  the  three  bales  of  cotton  that  were 
missing.  They  were  in  the  warehouse  of  Messrs.  Campbell  &  Co., 
the  marks  and  numbers  almost  obliterated.  I  was  able  to  iden- 
tify them  by  my  mem.  of  shipment.  The  person  you  speak  of  was 
living  in  Peiisacola  when  I  first  arrived  there.  He  had  a  house 
in  the  town,  and  lived  alone.  His  wife  had  been  dead  several 
years.  This  is  all  that  I  feel  at  liberty  to  communicate  by  letter, 
but  may  be  able  to  answer  any  proper  questions  when  I  return  to 
Carrville,  next  week. 

Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

ANDREW  GOWRTE. 

The  following  letters  were  enclosed  in  a  separate  wrapper, 
which  bore  this  endorsement :  "  Since  the  death  of  the  two  Den- 
sons  I  found  the  enclosed  papers  in  a  negro  cabin  on  my  planta- 
tion. I  endeavoured  to  save  the  lives  of  these  miserable  men  at 
the  Lynch  trial,  but  I  stood  alone.  These  new  papers  only  serve 
to  make  their  guilt  more  apparent,  though  I  still  regret  that  I 
was  not  able  to  obtain  for  them,  the  regular  legal  trial  they 
demanded. 

June  20, 1832.  JOHN  HARWOOD." 


126  HARWOOD. 


LETTER     XXXIII. 


ORLEANS,  1st  May,  1830. 
To  MATTHEW  BENSON,  Baton  Eouge,  La. 

Friend  and  Brotlier  :  —  The  good  cause  is  progressing.  I  leave 
this  city  to-morrow,  and  will  join  you  at  the  place  you  have  se- 
lected for  your  field  of  labour  early  in  next  week.  Lose  no  oppor- 
tunity that  may  offer  for  informing  our  brethren  in  bondage  of 
the  remedy  for  the  evils  they  suffer.  All  that  is  now  needed  is 
concert  of  action.  The  remedy  we  propose  is  desperate,  but  the 
disease  is  worse. 

Your  fellow  worker, 

0.  SUMNER. 


LETTER  XXXIV. 


ORLEANS,  July  8,  1830. 
To  MATTHEW  BENSON,  Baton  Eouge,  La. 

Dear  D.  :  —  You  are  running  a  great  and  unnecessary  risk.  Let 
the  niggers  take  their  chances  until  the  other  matter  is  settled. 
I  own  that  I  should  not  go  into  mourning  if  you  could  persuade 
them  to  kill  all  the  planters  in  that  particular  neighbourhood.  If 
we  could  manage  them  afterwards,  they  could,  perhaps,  aid  us  in 
our  search.  Bon't  write  to  me  under  any  name.  If  you  can  find 
the  thing  we  will  divide  fairly,  but  I  know  that  this  part  of  the 
world  will  be  very  unhealthy  afterwards.  With  an  old  friend  I 
may  venture  to  dispense  with  the  formality  of  a 

SIGNATURE. 


LETTER  XXXY. 

XEW  ORLEANS,  July  18, 1831. 
To  MATTHEW  BENSON,  Baton  Eouge,  La. 

Dear  D. : — Your  messenger  reached  here  in  safety,  and  if  he 
were  wise  he  would  not  return.  He,  however,  avows  his  deter- 
mination to  share  your  fate.  I  tell  you  again,  you  are  incurring 
a  terrible  risk.  If  you  suppose  that  you  can  escape,  through 
any  legal  quibble,  dismiss  that  delusion  from  your  mind  instanter. 
You  can  never  obtain  a  regular  trial,  but  will  be  strung  up  to  the 


A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS.  127 

nearest  tree  if  you  are  caught.  That  madman,  Sumner,  is  already 
in  jail — fortunately  for  him — and  all  the  rest  of  his  gang  are 
known  and  will  be  caught.  Bum  this  up.  I  am  not  a  coward, 
yet  I  am  shaking  now  with  apprehension.  If  you  do  not  instantly 
give  up  all  the  schemes  for  the  present,  and  work  your  way  into 
another  State,  through  the  woods — or  any  way  off  the  public 
roads — we  shall  meet  no  more  on  this  side  of  Tophet !  Yet  you 
are  such  a  headstrong  devil,  that  I  know  you  will  not  profit  by  my 
advice.  I  sw^.ar  to  you  that  I  will  hunt  for  the  valuables  when 
this  fanatical  scheme  and  the  schemers  are  both  disposed  of  and 
forgotten,  and  I  will  divide  fairly  with  you,  as  agreed.  I  swear  it 
to  you,  by  the  name  I  bear,  or  ought  to  bear.  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  about  the  trees.  I  only  know  that  there  are  some  in  the 
neighbourhood,  as  you  will  find  to  your  cost,  when  you  are  dang- 
ling from  one  of  them.  I  will  repeat  to  M.  the  exact  conversation 
that  was  overheard,  and  you  can  draw  your  own  conclusions. 
Once  more,  I  charge  you— fly ! 

NEMO. 


LETTER  XXXVI. 


ORLEANS,  August  1,  1831. 
To  MATTHEW  BENSON,  Carrville,  La. 

You  are  lost,  both  of  you  I  It  is  possible  that  this  may  reach 
you  in  time,  and  only  possible.  Surnner  —  the  damned  fool  —  had 
a  list  of  names  and  "  fields  of  labour,"  and  these  are  found.  You 
and  your  son  are  therein  located  in  Carrville.  If  it  chances  that 
you  are  still  free  when  you  get  this  —  look  not  behind  you  ! 

NEMO. 


LETTER  XXXVII,  AND  LAST. 

June  20, 1832. 
To  HENRIETTA  HARWOOD,  Harwood. 

My  Darling  Child : — I  have  selected  the  letters  in  this  packet, 
and  arranged  them  in  order,  addressing  them  to  you.  Most  of 
the  day  has  been  given  to  this  occupation,  and  the  task  is  now 
finished.  When  you  receive  this,  which  will  not  be  until  your 
father  has  exchanged  this  world  for  a  better  one,  I  wish  you  to  keep 


128  HAEWOOD. 

the  letters  together,  aiid  to  read  them  when  you  will,  and  to  dis- 
pose of  them  thereafter  as  your  excellent  judgment  and  your 
enlightened  conscience  shall  dictate.  And  while  I  wish  you  to 
know  all  of  the  story  therein  unfolded,  I  do  not  desire  my  dear 
boy  to  know  any  part  of  it.  Since  your  mother's  death  you  have 
been  my  most  constant  companion,  and  my  most  intimate  friend, 
and  I  feel  that  this  intercourse  will  grow  closer  and  more  intimate 
as  your  mind  expands—if  it  should  please  God  to  spare  me.  But 
if  it  is  otherwise  ordered,  my  daughter,  let  it  comfort  you  to  know 
that  your  whole  life  has  been  one  unchanging  comfort  to  me  ;  and 
also,  that  I  confide  your  brother  to  you,  with  a  strong  and  abiding 
conviction  that  you  are  fully  equal  to  the  responsibility  of  the 
charge.  Darling  Eet,  your  father  thanks  God  for  the  gift  of  his 
precious  daughter  every  hour  of  his  life. 

You  will  know  from  Judge  Carr,  to  whose  legal  guardianship  I 
have  confided  my  children,  what  I  have  thought  would  be  best 
for  you,  in  regard  to  your  settlement  in  life.  Need  I  say,  dear 
child,  that  this  is  only  an  expression  of  my  opinion,  and  by  no 
means  intended  to  bind  you,  should  you  make  a  different  choice. 
Only  one  word  of  counsel,  darling,  do  I  leave  with  you  on  this 
subject.  Never  marry  until  you  are  sure  that  your  husband  is  the 
"foremost  man"  of  all  your  world.  Do  not  be  misled  by  outward 
attractions  of  any  sort.  You  come  of  a  high  race,  and  should 
never  mate  except  with  a  gentleman  of  rare  honour.  But  I  can 
freely  trust  you  in  this  also. 

Besides  you  and  Herbert,  I  have  no  living  kindred  in  America — 
that  is,  I  do  not  know  that  I  have.  If  I  have,  they  are  not  such 
as  you  will  wish  to  know  or  acknowledge.  I  have  two  young 
cousins  in  England — or  had  twenty  years  ago — as  you  will  under- 
stand from  the  letters.  Farewell,  my  daughter ! 
Your  loving  father, 

JOHN  HAKWOOD. 

p.  s. — There  is  a  man  called  Delaney,  whom  you  have  seen  once 
or  twice — I  find  myself  instinctively  recoiling  from  him.  Trust 
my  instinct,  Eet,  and  avoid  him. 


HERBERTS  JOURNAL.  129 

HERBERT'S   JOURNAL, 

RESUMED. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
MR.  DENHAM. 

BALTIMORE,  MONDAY,  June  14, 1836. 

IHAYE  been  home  nearly  a  week,  and  have  enjoyed  myself 
as  much  as  was  possible,  under  all  the  circumstances. 
Most  of  the  time  has  been  spent  in  Insurance  offices  and  in 
the  stores.  I  have  almost  finished  my  Baltimore  work,  and 
expect  to  start  for  New  York  to-morrow.  It  is  possible  that  I 
may  be  detained  there  30  or  60  days,  as  the  underwriters  there 
may  insist  upon  the  time  mentioned  in  their  policies.  Mr.  Bayard 
has  gone  to  St.  Louis,  and  will  remain  there  the  rest  of  this  year. 
He  has  given  me  carte  blanche,  and  I  am  to  employ  any  assistants 
I  may  want  when  the  goods  reach  Carrville. 

Mother  and  the  girls  know  most  of  my  Louisiana  history — it  is 
barely  possible  that  I  mentioned  Miss  Harwood  as  little  and  as 
slightly  as  I  could.  I  cannot  endure  that  even  my  Mother  should 
know  all  that  I  might  reveal.  I  have  not  spoken  of  the  letters  at 
all.  Grace  got  me  into  a  corner  yesterday,  and  asked  me  some 
extremely  embarrassing  questions.  I  was  rascal  enough  to  pre- 
tend that  I  was  in  love  with  Maltby's  little  girl !  and  I  praised  her 
to  the  skies.  She  is  a  little  slip  of  a  girl,  about  fourteen — a  mere 
child!  Grace  asked  me  the  colour  of  her  eyes  and  hair.  I  hope  I 
told  the  truth,  but  am  not  certain.  At  last  she  asked  me  "  what 
sort  of  a  bonnet  she  ivore  /"  I  did  not  swear,  but  the  exclamation 
I  uttered  got  me  off  without  cross-examination.  Mother  gave  me 
a  lecture — I  don't  know  how  long — about  my  change  of  name,  as 
if  I  could  help  it !  I  have  prevailed  on  her  to  promise,  however, 
that  she  will  write  to  Mr.  Henry  Hubbard  when  I  go  back,  and  I 
have  promised  to  resume  my  name  "  as  soon  as  possible."  Dear 
Mother  is  kind  to  me,  and  yielded  at  last,  against  her  judgment. 
Alice  don't  want  to  hear  much,  except  when  I  happen  to  speak  of 
Mr.  Hamilton.  She  is  such  an  old  blue  stocking  that  she  listened 
with  great  attention  while  I  repreached  the  two  sermons  I  heard. 
She  heard  him  all  the  time  when  he  was  in  Baltimore,  and  was  in- 
troduced to  him  at  somebody's  house,  where  he  happened  to  call. 
If  she  had  known  he  was  going  to  Louisiana  she  would  have  sent 

9 


liiO  HARWOOD. 

some  message  to  me :  That  would  liave  been  a  nice  business  !  I 
daresay  he  saw  some  family  likeness,  when  he  said  I  reminded 
him  of  some  one  he  had  met  here.  Dear  me!  I  said  nothing 
about  his  self-denial  sermon  fitting  me  so  exactly.  I  spoke  of 
Miss  Harwood  as  the  promised  wife  of  Charley  Carr  all  the  time. 
Oh !  how  earnestly  do  I  long  to  believe  that  I  lied  every  time 
I  did  it  I  Mother  asked  for  my  journal  once  or  twice.  I  told  her 
the  last  time  that  there  was  only  about  one  week's  record  in  it, 
and  that  I  could  give  her  a  verbal  history  in  less  time  than  it 
would  take  to  read  the  record.  Oh,  Ret!  my  whole  life  is 
compressed  into  that  short  week  ! 

TUESDAY,  June  15, 1836. 

My  trunk  and  I  arrived  at  the  steamboat  wharf  just  five  minutes 
after  the  boat  started.  So  I  left  my  baggage  at  the  office  and 
walked  back  to  my  Mother's  house,  carrying  my  Jittle  portfolio 
containing  my  letters  and  this  journal,  and  some  other  letters.  I 
have  made  it  a  rule  to  keep  this  always  under  my  own  eye  since 
I  left  Carrville.  On  board  the  "  Queen  of  the  West77 1  left  it  in 
my  trunk,  but  carried  it  in  my  hands  from  Wheeling  to  Baltimore. 

I  let  myself  in  with  my  latch-key,  and,  walking  softly,  intending 
to  pounce  upon  Mother  and  the  girls  suddenly,  I  slipped  into  a 
little  closet  adjoining  the  drawing  room.  I  had  been  there  but  a 
few  minutes  when  the  door  bell  rang.  As  I  could  get  out  of  the 
closet  into  the  hall  if  the  visitor  entered  the  drawing-room,  I 
seated  myself  and  waited  patiently  for  the  "call'7  to  be  over. 
When  the  servant  opened  the  door  I  heard  a  man's  voice,  saying : 

"  Does  Mrs.  Harwood  reside  here  f 7 

"  Yes,  sir,  walk  in." 

"Give  her  this  card,  and  say  I  will  be  obliged  if  she  will  favour 
me  with  a  few  minutes'  conversation,"  and  he  walked  into  the 
parlour. 

I  soon  heard  my  Mother's  silks  rustling,  as  she  passed  the  closet 
door,  and  when  she  got  into  the  parlour,  I  thought  I  would  slip  out 
and  go  back  for  the  girls.  Before  I  got  out  of  earshot,  I  heard 
the  visitor  say : 

"  Mrs.  Harwood  f 7 

"  Yes,  sir!  Mr.  Denham,  I  believe?" 

I  resumed  my  seat. 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  am  Mr.  Denham.  I  have  called  to  see  if  I 
could  find  a  relation  of  the  late  Sir  Herbert  Harwood,  of  Harwood 
House,  Essex." 


HERBERTS  JOURNAL.  131 

"  My  husband  was  the  nephew  of  Sir  Herbert  Harwood,  sir," 
replied  niy  Mother. 

"  I  suppose  so,  madam,  from  information  I  received." 

"  Eesume  your  seat,  sir,"  said  my  Mother,  and  they  sat  down. 
The  idea  of  going  away  flashed  across  my  mind,  as  I  did  not  like 
being  an  eavesdropper  ;  but  I  was  rooted  to  the  spot  by  the  next 
words. 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  say  all  I  know,  madam,"  resumed  the 
visitor,  "  but  it  will  perhaps  be  sufficient  to  say  that  your  son — 
you  have  a  son  I  think  f 

"  Yes,  sir ;  Herbert  !" 

"  Precisely,  madam.  Mr.  Herbert  Harwood  is  particularly  in- 
terested in  the  matter.  For  the  present,  however,  I  am  obliged  to 
act  very  circumspectly ;  and  I  may  add  that  your  son  especially 
should  know  nothing  of  what  I  may  say  to  you."  There  was  a 
pause. 

11  Proceed,  sir,"  said  my  Mother,  at  length. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam.  Do  I  understand  you  to  agree  that  what 
I  reveal  is  to  be  considered  confidential  F 

"  My  son  has  just  left  the  city,  sir.  He  may  not  return  for  sev- 
eral weeks.  You  will  have  to  allow  me  to  decide  when  I  have 
heard  what  you  say  you  have  to  reveal."  There  was  another 
pause. 

"  I  see  you  distrust  me,  madam,  and  I  will  frankly  state  the 
case  to  you.  I  am  a  lawyer,  and  my  personal  interest  in  this  busi- 
ness depends  entirely  upon  the  success  of  my  effort  to  place  your 
son  in  possession  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  Now,  if  he  should 
hear  too  soon  of  this  good  fortune,  and  deem  it  advisable  to  make 
any  personal  effort  to  secure  it,  he  would  almost  certainly  derange 
niy  plans,  and  probably  lose  the  fortune  altogether." 

"My  son  is  a  man,  sir;  and  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  educa- 
tion. You  may  safely  rely  upon  his  honour." 

"Undoubtedly,  madam!"  replied  her  interlocutor.  "You  shall 
judge  for  yourself  whether  or  not  to  include  him  in  our  confi- 
dence  " 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  what  you  mean  by  our  confidence,  sir.7' 
My  Mother  is  a  regular  queen  when  she  chooses  to  put  on  her 
majesty.  I  could  hardly  refrain  from  peeping  into  the  room  to  see 
how  Mr.  Denham  took  that  shot. 

"  I  perceive  that  there  is  no  confidence  on  your  side  at  least, 
madam,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  fear  the  whole  business  will  fall  through 


132  HARWOOD. 

for  want  of  it.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  see  all 
papers  that  your  husband  may  have  left.  I  do  not  object  to  the 
presence  of  your  son  or  yourself  while  I  make  the  investigation. 
Nay,  I  only  ask  that  you,  or  either  of  you,  should  read  the  papers 
in  my  hearing.  If  I  am  to  proceed  in  the  case  thereafter,  I  must 
insist  upon  full  liberty  to  act  without  the  interference  of  any  one." 

"  My  husband  left  no  papers  relating  to  his  connection  with  the 
family  of  Sir  Herbert,  excepting  those  written  by  himself " 

a  Those  are  precisely  the  papers  I  want,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Denharn  eagerly. 

"The  only  papers  in  my  possession,  sir,  are  contained  in  a 
packet  addressed  to  my  son." 

"  No  doubt,  madam ;  they  are  all  important  in  this  matter." 

"  Well  sir,  I  can  do  nothing  without  consulting  my  son.  If  you 
desire  it  I  will  write  to  him  by  the  next  mail.  I  can  have  an  an- 
swer in  about  a  week." 

"  I  must  content  myself  with  your  decision,"  said  he,  rising.  My 
Mother  rang  the  bell,  and  he  passed  into  the  hall.  As  the  servant 
opened  the  door  I  peeped  into  the  passage,  and  saw  his  crisp, 
black  hair,  the  nicely  fitting  kid  glove,  and  the  glossy  silk  hat  he 
was  adjusting  on  his  wicked  skull. 

It  was  Captain  Delaney. 

As  my  Mother  walked  up  the  hall  I  emerged  from  the  closet 
and  met  her. 

"  Herbert !  my  son !  what  has  happened  f 

"Nothing,  Mother.  The  boat  left  me,  and  I  must  postpone  my 
journey  until  to-morrow.  Please  come  into  the  drawing  room 
again." 

"  You  are  ill,  Herbert?  your  face  is  pale,  and " 

"  I  am  quite  well,  dear  Mother.    You  had  a  visitor  just  now?" 

«  Yes — a  Mr Denham,"  she  said,  glancing  at  the  card  in 

her  hand — "the  most  intensely  disagreeable  man  I  ever  met !" 

u  What  makes  you  say  so,  Mother  f? 

"  His  tout  ensemble  ;  the  glance  of  his  sharp,  black  eye ;  the  tone 
of  his  voice ;  the  motion  of  his  gloved  hand ;  his  seeming  deter- 
mination to  accomplish  his  purposes — coute  qui  coute."  Oh,  excel- 
lent Mother ! 

"  I  have  heard  all  your  conversation,  Mother.  Please  forgive 
me.  I  was  in  the  closet  all  the  time  he  was  here.  Don't  scold  me, 
please,  but  listen.  I  know  this  man.  I  have  seen  him  in  Louisi- 
ana, and  have  heard  more  than  I  have  seen.  He  is  now  working 


HEEBEE  T  S  JO  UBNAL.  1 33 

out  some  devilish  plot  affecting  me,  or John  Harwood's  chil- 
dren. Oh,  Mother !  help  me  to  circumvent  him." 

"Why  are  you  so  excited,  Herbert?  where  are  you  going  ?"  E 
went  into  the  closet  and  got  my  portfolio ;  I  laid  it  in  her  lap,  and 
then  putting  my  arms  round  her  neck  I  hid  my  face  in  her  loving 
bosom. 

"  I  have  not  dealt  candidly  with  you,  Mother.  Eead  all  of  my 
journal,  and  all  the  letters,  and  you  will  then  be  able  to  counsel 
me.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  Mother;  'I  should  have  told  you 
everything.  Where  are  the  girls  P 

"  They  are  both  out — will  not  be  home  until  evening.  Suppose 
you  go  after  them  ;  they  are  at  Mrs.  Leland's.  Go,  my  son,  and  I 
will  read  while  you  are  all  away.  Mrs.  Leland  will  be  very  glad 
to  have  you.  Come  home  early."  So  I  went. 

When  we  got  home  Mother  was  in  her  own  room.  It  was  about 
ten  o'clock,  and  the  girls  soon  retired.  I  took  my  candle  and 
came  here  into  my  chamber.  My  Father's  portrait  is  hanging  over 
there  by  the  window,  and  I  was  standing  before  it,  looking  into 
his  eyes  and  trying  to  remember  how  he  looked  when  I  last  saw 
him,  when  Mother  came  into  the  room.  She  laid  my  portfolio 
down  on  the  table  and  held  out  her  arms  to  me.  She  held  me  in 
her  embrace  a  moment,  and  then  we  sat  down. 

"  My  poor  boy!"  she  said  at  last,  "does  your  Father's  picture 
say  anything  to  you  f 

"  Yes,  Mother.  It  tells  me  that  I  am  the  son  of  a  noble  gentle- 
man and  of  a  matchless  lady !  I  don't  need  any  other  lesson." 

"  I  have  read  your  journal,  Herbert,  and  all  those  letters.  Yon 
have  acted  well,  my  son,  and  I  am  proud  of  you." 

"  I  think  you  may  trust  me,  Mother.  And  now  I  want  my 
Father's  letter — may  I  have  it  f 

"  It  is  here,  in  your  portfolio.  It  was  to  be  given  you  when  yon 
were  of  age.  I  think  that  time  has  come,  dear,  hasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.'7 

"  Do  you  want  to  read  it  to-night,  Herbert  ?"  she  said,  as  she 
kissed  me  at  parting. 

"  Yes,  Mother.  We  will  talk  about  it  to-morrow.  Let  me  light 
yon.  Good  night !" 


134  HAH  WOOD. 

CHAPTEE  XVIII. 
ALLEN  HARWOOD'S  LETTER. 

BALTIMORE,  May  1st,  1826. 

My  Beloved  Son : — It  is  proper  that  you  should  know  some  part 
of  the  history  of  your  family,  and  while  you  are  now  too  young  to 
understand  the  story,  the  time  will  probably  arrive  when  it  will 
be  full  of  interest.  I  am.  admonished  by  many  unmistakable 
tokens  that  my  career  is  nearly  ended.  Yours  will  be  only  begun, 
my  son,  when  you  read  these  lines.  May  it  be  as  happy  as  your 
Father's  has  been,  and  far  more  useful. 

My  grandfather  was  the  second  son  of  John  Lacy  Harwood, 
Baron  Morton  of  Laviugton,  Devonshire.  The  Harwoods  are  a 
very  old  family,  and  have  always  piqued  themselves  upon  their 
ancient  name.  From  the  wars  of  the  Eoses  down  to  the  accession 
of  the  House  of  Hanover,  it  has  always  happened  that  the  branch 
of  the  family  from  which  you  spring  has  espoused  the  cause  which 
modern  historians  have  pronounced  to  be  right.  There  have  been 
many  vicissitudes  in  their  history,  but  through  them  all  the  Har- 
woods of  Essex  and  Devonshire  have  ever  maintained  their  repu- 
tation as  valiant  soldiers,  wise  statesmen  and  spotless  gentlemen. 
Therefore,  the  cumulative  power  of  the  example  of  these  worthies 
has  been  felt  through  succeeding  generations ;  and  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  family  that  I  have  known,  with  one  exception,  have 
acknowledged  and  been  governed  by  this  influence.  In  this 
democratic  land  there  is  a  groAviug  disposition  to  ignore  and 
despise  all  the  claims  of  lineage  and  blood ;  but  I  charge  you,  my 
son,  to  live  and  die  worthily,  to  let  the  controlling  emotions  of 
your  moral  nature,  the  words  of  your  lips,  and  the  acts  of  your 
life,  all  accord  with  the  record  of  the  race  from  which  you  have 
descended. 

The  lordship  of  Morton,  with  the  Devonshire  estates,  the  prin- 
cipal of  which  is  Lavington,  were  all  conferred  upon  my  father's 
grandfather,  John  Lacy  Harwood.  My  grandfather  was  a  younger 
son  of  the  first  Baron  Morton  of  Lavington.  He  died  in  17CO, 
leaving  four  sons,  namely:  Herbert,  Lacy,  John  and  Barnard. 
My  earliest  recollections  go  back  to  about  1790,  when  my  uncle 
Herbert  was  the  only  survivor  of  these  four  gentlemen.  My 
father,  Lacy  Harwood,  died  soon  after  my  birth  ;  my  uncles,  John 


ALLEN  HARWOO&S  LETTER.  135 

and  Barnard,  died  before  1790 — leaving,  each  of  them,  a  son, 
whose  sole  inheritance  was  his  father's  name.  My  uncle  Herbert 
was  an  officer  in  the  Eoyal  Navy,  and  died  about  fifteen  years 
ago,  after  winning  a  victory  that  cost  him  his  life.  You  bear  the 
name  of  this  noble  gentleman,  my  son,  and  I  trust  you  to  trans- 
mit it  to  your  children  without  stain  or  blemish. 

My  grandfather's  estate,  according  to  English  law,  descended 
to  his  eldest  son,  and  the  portions  of  both  of  my  cousins  were  very 
small.  We  were  all  three  brought  up  in  our  uncle's  house,  and  I 
should  have  inherited  his  fortune  if  he  had  died  without  issue- 
but  he  left  two  sons,  who  were  born  to  him,  after  we  three  had 
arrived  at  manhood.  My  cousin  John  had  an  estate  somewhere 
in  Louisiana,  bought  for  him  by  our  uncle,  who  had  been  created 
a  baronet  by  George  III,  and  whose  estate  had  reached  a  value 
nearly  double  the  amount  of  his  inheritance.  He  was  munificent 
in  his  gifts  to  his  nephews,  and  intended  to  purchase  a  similar 
estate  for  me  after  the  birth  of  his  heir.  But  I  had  long  desired 
to  win  a  fortune  for  myself  in  India,  and  my  kind  uncle  yielded  to 
my  wishes. 

Before  I  proceed  with  my  own  story,  I  have  a  few  words  to  say 
about  my  cousin  Barnard,  and  about  his  wife,  Miss  Alice  More, 
who  was  Sir  Herbert's  adopted  daughter.  What  I  say  to  you  on 
this  subject  I  wish  you  alone  to  know.  So  far  as  I  am  aware, 
your  Mother  and  I  are  the  only  living  repositories  of  these  secrets, 
and  I  communicate  them  to  you,  hoping  you  will  be  warned 
by  an  evil  example,  as  you  will  be  stimulated  to  good  by  that  of 
your  grand  uncle.  The  history  of  his  life  is  a  part  of  the  history 
of  his  country,  and  in  all  her  glorious  annals  I  could  find  no  name 
to  bestow  upon  you  that  was  more  worthy  than  his. 

From  his  early  youth  Barnard  was  fierce,  wilful,  imperious,  ex- 
acting and  revengeful.  This  much  I  know.  I  am.  obliged  to  think 
he  was  also  covetous  and  even  dishonest.  He  was  the  one  bad 
product  of  a  goodly  tree.  At  school,  and  at  home  during  the  holi- 
days, he  was  a  perpetual  thorn  in  the  sides  of  John  and  your  father. 
I  avoided  quarrels  with  him  by  avoiding  his  society,  but  he  and 
John  spent  their  early  lives  in  one  long  battle,  with  occasional 
hollow  truces.  About  the  time  I  attained  my  majority,  uncle  re- 
turned after  a  long  absence  from  England,  and  placed  Barnard  at  a 
different  school,  and  shortly  afterwards  John  was  finally  settled 
in  Louisiana.  Just  about  the  time  of  niy  departure  for  India, 
Barnard  and  Alice  were  privately  married  in  Scotland,  and  sailed 


13G  HARWOOD. 

for  Leg  born,  it  was  said,  immediately.  I  do  not  know  what  to  say 
of  Alice.  I  loved  her  very  dearly,  and  I  am  now  disposed  to  be- 
lieve that  she  was  misled  and  overruled  by  Barnard,  whose  one 
redeeming  trait  was  his  profound  affection  for  her.  Their  mar- 
riage was  opposed  by  Sir  Herbert  on  account  of  the  disparity  in 
their  ages,  Alice  being  five  or  six  years  older  than  her  husband. 
Neither  of  them  had  any  fortune,  as  we  were  all  alike  dependent 
upon  Sir  Herbert'sJdndriess,  and  it  was  because  I  was  not  willing 
to  take  any  part  of  his  inheritance  from  his  natural  heirs  that  I 
determined  to  seek  my  own  fortune  in  the  East.  I  try  to  think 
of  you,  Herbert,  as  a  matured  man,  while  I  write  this,  and  to  be- 
lieve that  you  will  appreciate  the  sacredness  of  the  secret  I  am 
about  to  tell  you.  I  am  afraid  that  Barnard  obtained  whatever 
money  he  had  by  a  direct  robbery.  This  was  enough  of  degrada- 
tion, it  would  seem  ;  but  to  crown  the  act  with  peculiar  infamy, 
he  chose  for  his  victim  the  kind,  unsuspecting  uncle,  in  whose 
house  he  had  lived  from  his  infancy !  I  do  not  know  this,  but 
there  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  upon  my  mind  concerning  the 
sad  story.  I  have  told  it  to  you,  trying  to  distinguish  between 
facts  and  suspicions,  because  it  is  possible  that  you  may  some 
day  encounter  your  unworthy  relative.  He  is  able  to  deceive  you 
or  any  one,  but  with  this  knowledge  of  his  character  you  need  not 
be  deceived,  if  you  should  ever  chance  to  meet. 

I  come  now  to  my  own  history,  and  have  little  more  to  say. 
Your  mother  will  communicate  all  you  may  desire  to  learn.  I 
first  saw  her  on  the  voyage  to  Calcutta,  and  learned  to  appreciate 
her  value  before  we  had  been  many  days  at  sea.  Like  me,  she 
was  an  orphan,  and  poor.  She  was  going,  a  passenger  in  the 
same  ship,  to  India,  at  the  invitation  of  her  uncle,  who  was  in 
moderately  prosperous  circumstances.  On  the  voyage  the  ship 
was  attacked  by  a  French  privateer,  and  although  not  captured, 
was  so  badly  damaged  that  she  was  abandoned  by  her  crew  in 
the  midst  of  a  storm.  I  had  been  severely  wounded  and  was 
supposed  to  be  dying,  and  the  crew  refused  to  transfer  my  almost 
lifeless  body  to  the  overladen  boat.  Alice,  my  Alice,  your  noble 
Mother,  refused  to  leave  her  affianced  husband  while  the  vital 
spark  still  lingered,  and  the  master  of  the  Hesperus  also  resolved 
to  share  our  fate.  The  crew  left  us,  and  were  no  doubt  drowned 
an  hour  afterwards.  The  master  was  swept  away  in  a  small  boat, 
which  he  was  supplying  with  provisions  for  our  escape,  and  was 
afterwards  picked  up  and  saved.  We  were  rescued,  Alice  and  I, 


ALLEN  HARWOOD'' S  LETTER.  137 

from  the  sinking  vessel  by  an  American  merchantman,  and  your 
Mother  saw  the  wreck  sink  before  we  had  reached  the  deck  of  the 
Chesapeake.  We  saved,  that  is  she  saved  my  baggage  and  her 
own,  and  our  joint  fortunes  amounted  to  a  little  more  than  ten 
thousand  dollars.  Before  we  reached  this  city,  to  which  the 
Chesapeake  was  bound,  we  had  spoken  two  British  cruisers,  and. 
I  had  sent  letters  to  my  uncle,  informing  him  of  my  safety,  by 
both  of  them.  I  afterwards  learned  that  he  had  died  before 
either  of  these  letters  reached  England,  if  they  ever  did. 

The  day  of  our  arrival  in  Baltimore  was  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life.  Your  mother  and  I  were  married  at  the  office  of  the  British 
Consul,  and  the  certificate  she  now  has  bears  his  signature  and 
official  seal.  I  commenced  the  business  from  which  I  am  now  re- 
tiring with  the  capital  I  had  saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  Hes- 
perus, and  the  blessing  of  Providence  has  so  far  attended  me  that 
I  am  able  to  leave  my  family  in  the  possession  of  a  modest  com- 
petence. You  will  have  to  make  your  own  way  in  the  world,  my 
son  5  if  you  desire  riches  you  must  earn  them.  In  this  land,  strict 
attention  to  a  vocation  and  economy  in  expenditure  will  rarely 
fail  of  obtaining  enough  for  any  reasonable  wants.  I  wrote  to  my 
cousin,  John  Harwood,  addressing  him  in  New  Orleans,  and  in- 
formed him  of  my  marriage  and  my  happiness.  I  received  in  reply 
a  letter  from  a  Mr.  Denharn,  an  English  gentleman,  who  stated 
that  poor  John  had  died  just  as  the  last  war  between  England  and 
this  country  began.  He  had  contracted  a  disease — some  malig- 
nant fever,  and  died  on  the  eve  of  his  own  marriage. 

Next  to  my  uncle,  whose  kindness  and  affection  followed  me 
through  my  whole  life,  and  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  all  that  I 
have,  John  Harwood  occupies  the  highest  place  in  my  memory. 
Though  he  was  ever  rash,  impulsive  and  passionate,  he  was  also 
ever  brave,  generous  and  true.  I  loved  him  very  dearly,  and  if  he 
had  lived,  it  would  have  been  my  pleasant  duty  to  bid  you  honour 
him,  as  you  can  now  only  honour  his  memory.  I  visited  him  with 
Sir  Herbert  at  his  home  in  Louisiana,  just  twenty -three  years  ago, 
and  we  three  gentlemen  explored  a  portion  of  the  western  bank  of 
the  great  river,  hunting  during  the  day  and  sleeping  in  the  open 
woods  at  night.  It  was  then  a  wilderness,  and  there  were  occa- 
sionally parties  of  unfriendly  Indians,  from  the  farther  West,  who 
roved  in  small  bands  almost  within  reach  of  the  settlements  on  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi.  I  was  once  attacked  by  a  scout  of  one 
of  these  wild  tribes,  and  should  probably  have  been  slain  in  the 


138  HARWOOD. 

encounter  but  for  the  courage  and  address  of  my  cousin  John. 
The  savage  had  surprised  ine,  and  mastered  my  rifle,  and  we  were 
struggling  on  the  ground,  my  strength  gradually  yielding  under 
the  pressure  of  the  iron  muscles  of  the  Indian,  when  John  sud- 
denly arrived  and  rescued  me.  I  shall  never  forget  how  he  dashed 
upon  the  truculent  savage,  tore  him  from  my  relaxing  grasp,  and 
wresting  the  knife  from  his  hand  killed  him  with  his  own  weapon. 
Mr.  Denham's  letter  informed  me  that  he  was  engaged  to  settle 
his  estate,  by  the  guardian  of  Sir  Charles  Harwood.  I  presume 
the  title  to  the  property  had  remained  in  Sir  Herbert  Harwood, 
though  I  know  that  it  was  my  uncle's  intention  to  convey  it  to 
John.  If  Mr.  Denham's  letter  had  not  so  explicitly  stated  the 
contrary,  I  should  have  gone  South  to  look  after  this  property,  for 
my  children's  sake ;  but  this  gentleman  could  have  had  no  conceiv- 
able motive  to  deceive  me,  and  I  am  forced  to  conclude  that  my 
uncle  had  retained  the  title  deeds. 

My  story  is  ended.  It  is  not  probable  that  you  will  ever  see 
any  of  the  members  of  the  family  whose  history  I  have  just  re- 
counted to  you.  I  have  few  memorials  to  leave  you.  The  most 
valuable  is  my  watch  and  seal,  bearing  the  Harwood  arms.  The 
watch  is  even  now  somewhat  antiquated,  and  when  you  are  old 
enough  to  wear  it  it  will  no  doubt  be  out  of  fashion ;  but,  if  it  has 
no  other  value,  the  inscription  on  the  case — "  From  Sir  Herbert 
Harwood,  Baronet,  to  his  dear  nephew  and  heir-at-law,  Allen 
Harwood,  London,  1801" — is -a  rich  legacy,  because  it  reminds  me 
of  my  loving  uncle,  and  will  serve  to  remind  you,  my  dear  son,  of 
both  him  and 

Your  loving  father, 

ALLEN  HARWOOD. 


OH  APTEE  XIX. 
WHEAL  PENTLAND. 

WEDNESDAY,  June  16, 1836. 

MY  Mother  and  I  have  spent  most  of  this  morning  in  mutual 
explanations,  and  we  have  enlightened  each  other  amaz- 
ingly. She  began,  after  reading  my  Father's  letter,  to  unravel  the 
Denham  mystery.  The  rascal  Denham,  or  Delaney,  has  been 
prowling  about  the  neighbourhood  of  Harwood,  to  find  and  carry 
off  the  box  of  jewelry  which  he  supposes  to  be  hidden  there.  It 


WHEAL  PENTLAND.  139 

is  my  box,  so  lie  is  trying  to  steal  from  me.  His  object  in  getting 
my  Father's  papers  is  evidently  to  eke  out  the  imperfect  informa- 
tion he  already  has,  and  which  he  probably  obtained  from  Bar- 
nard Harwood.  We  have  concluded  to  meet  him  as  follows  :  I 
shall  write  to  my  Mother,  as  soon  as  I  reach  New  York,.  declining 
to  treat  with  Mr.  Denham  without  some  more  definite  statement, 
and  inviting  Jiiin  to  correspond  with  me  upon  the  subject  through 
my  Mother.  I  want  a  letter  from  him,  because  I  think  he  is 
the  writer  of  those  letters  to  the  Densous,  and,  if  so,  I  can  prove  it 
by  comparing  them.  I  don't  know  what  will  be  the  next  step,  but 
I  am  going  to  keep  the  secret  of  my  interest  in  the  matter  from 
Captain  Delauey  by  keeping  my  Hubbard  name  awhile  longer.  If 
I  escape  meeting  him  here,  I  shall  have  the  advantage  when  we 
meet  again  in  Louisiana,  tis  I  will  know  his  secret  but  he  will  not 
know  mine.  I  shall  try  to  be  in  time  for  the  steamboat  this 
evening. 


YORK,  SATURDAY,  June  19,  1836. 

After  prowling  about  this  big  city  all  day  I  feel  rather  tired. 
There  will  be  some  delay  about  collecting  the  insurance  money, 
and  I  don't  know  how  long  I  shall  be  detained.  I  wrote  the  letter 
to  Mother  as  soon  as  I  arrived  here,  and  expect  to  have  a  reply 
some  day  in  next  week  —  probably  about  Wednesday.  The  largest 
amount  of  our  New  York  Insurancs  is  in  the  New  York  and  Balti- 
more Consolidated  office,  and  I  spent  about  three  hours  there  to- 
day. When  I  got  access  to  the  secretary  I  found  him  poring  over 
some  huge  account  books,  and  apparently  very  much  perplexed. 
He  soon  disposed  of  my  business  by  appointing  to-morrow  for  the 
investigation  of  my  claim  ;  and  remarking  that  he  was  very  much 
annoyed  by  the  state  of  his  accounts,  I  offered  my  assistance.  He 
has  to  make  a  seini-annual  report  on  the  1st  of  July,  and  there  is 
a  large  error  in  his  balance  sheet  which  he  has  not  been  able  to 
find.  I  told  him  that  I  was  an  accountant  of  considerable  expe- 
rience, and  that  I  would  look  for  the  mistake  while  he  examined 
my  insurance  claim.  He  agreed  at  once,  and  I  went  to  work.  It 
is  only  necessary  to  say  that  I  have  thus  far  discovered  nothing, 
except  that  the  mistake  must  bo  in  one  of  three  or  four  large  ac- 
counts. Mr.  Hardy,  the  secretary,  is  not  much  of  an  accountant, 
and  he  has  been  wasting  valuable  time  and  labour  in  looking  for 
his  error  in  impossible  places.  He  says  he  will  give  me  five  hun- 
dred dollars  if  I  get  off  his  balance  sheet  before  the  month  is  out, 


140  HAEWOOD. 

so  I  am  going  to  work  in  earnest  on  Monday.    I  must  find  out 
now  where  to  go  to  church  to-morrow. 

NEW  YORK,  MONDAY,  June  2  i ,  1836. 

I  have  spent  this  entire  day  over  the  insurance  books,  and  begin 
to  see  daylight.  The  original  error  was  an  uneven  sum,  and  I 
have  found  two  or  three  small  ones,  and  am  now  looking  for  pre- 
cisely one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  I  am  sure  of  finding  that, 
by  a  regular  and  systematic  examination  of  all  the  large  accounts, 
taking  them  ab  initio.  When  I  make  my  next  entry  here,  I  shall 
be  able  to  record  my  victory.  The  whole  thing  is  so  simplified  by 
my  fortunate  discovery  of  the  small  mistakes,  that  I  feel  entirely 
confident  of  success  to-morrow  or  on  the  next  day. 

WEDNESDAY,  June  23,  1836. 

A  good  long  yarn  to  spin  to-night.  I  found  the  error,  and  gave 
Mr.  Hardy  the  balance  sheet  this  morning.  I  have  now  in  my 
pocket  a  nice  crisp  new  note  for  five  hundred  dollars,  which  was 
the  more  acceptable,  because  Mr.  Hardy  seemed  to  pay  it  with 
genuine  pleasure.  Eeceived  a  letter  from  Mother,  enclosing  a 
note  from  Mr.  Denham,  which  I  may  as  well  copy  here : 

BALTIMORE,  June  21,  1836. 
"  To  Mr.  HERBERT  HARWOOD,  New  York,, 

u  Dear  Sir :  Mrs.  Alien  Harwood  has  shown  me  a  letter  from 
you,  in  which  you  decline  my  proposition  to  look  over  your  Fath- 
er's papers,  without  fuller  information  from  me  as  to  the  object 
in  view.  Briefly,  I  may  say,  that  I  expect  to  obtain  such  informa- 
tion from  these  papers  as  will  enable  me  to  secure  to  you  a  sum  of 
money,  which  you  would  inherit  as  the  son  of  Allen  Harwood, 
Esq.  It  is  not  possible  for  any  one  to  obtain  this  money  with- 
out the  information  which  I  alone  can  give.  If  I  succeed,  I  shall 
require  your  obligation  to  pay  me  a  percentage  of  the  amount 
obtained ;  and  I  shall  also  require  that  you  put  me  in  possession 
of  certain  data,  which  I  am  sure  will  be  found  among  the  papers 
left  by  Mr.  Allen  Harwood.  These  data  will,  no  doubt,  have  to  be 
collected  from  old  letters,  &c.,  or  other  memoranda  5  and  as  I  can- 
not specify  more  explicitly  the  kind  of  information  I  want,  I  can 
see  no  way  to  arrive  at  the  desired  end  save  by  a  careful  examina- 
tion of  the  papers  referred  to.  My  address  for  the  present  is 
Barntim's  Hotel,  Baltimore. 

"  Very  respectfully  yours, 

"MARK  DENHAM." 


WHEAL  PENTLAND.  141 

The  writing  is  identical  with  that  in  the  letters  signed  "  Signa- 
ture "  and  "  Nemo,"  in  Bet's  packet.  I  have  not  yet  answered  Mr. 
Denhain. 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  account  for  this  man's  conduct ;  that  he  designs 
to  gain  possession  of  the  box,  left  by  his  stepmother  to  my  grand- 
mother, I  can  easily  understand.  But  why  should  he  change  his 
name  to  Delaney,  and  how  does  he  know  anything  about  my 
Father's  family  ?  He  has  been  hunting  this  lead-covered  box  for 
more  than  five  years,  and  this  is  his  first  appearance  in  this  lati- 
tude. He  is  undoubtedly  the  same  man  who  volunteered  the  lie 
which  deceived  my  father,  and  prevented  a  natural  intercourse 
between  the  cousins,  which  might  have  led  to  the  discovery  ot" 
this  property.  John  Harwood  died  in  the  belief  that  my  Father 
had  perished  in  the  Indian  Ocean ;  and  my  Father  died  in  the 
belief  that  his  cousin  had  fallen  a  victim  to  some  southern  fever, 
in  1812.  On  one  hand,  I  am  forearmed  by  the  knowledge  of  Den- 
ham's  rascality,  and  by  a  tolerably  clear  insight  into  his  motives 
and  intentions ;  but,  on  the  other,  1  feel  as  though  I  am  fighting 
in  the  dark,  and  with  an  adversary  having  cat's  eyes.  I  think  I 
have  decided  to  write  to  Mother,  requesting  her  to  tell  Mr.  Den- 
ham  thafrf  shall  call  upon  him,  if  I  conclude  to  entrust  the  mat- 
ter to  him.  If  I  can  evade  him  until  I  get  back  to  Louisiana  I 
may  be  able  to  spoil  all  his  nice  plans. 

After  ^  left  Mr.  Hardy  this  morning  I  walked  down  into  Wall 
street,  to  hunt  up  Mr.  Carr's  correspondent.  I  found  his  office  at 
last,  on  the  second  floor  of  a  house  which  seemed  to  be  occupied 
entirely  by  stock  brokers.  Every  door  had  a  little  tin  sign  on  it, 
and  all  the  signs  bore  the  word  "  stock  broker,"  in  addition  to  the 
names  of  the  occupants  of  the  rooms.  Mr.  Callahan's  office  is  a 
dingy  looking  back  room,  furnished  with  two  or  three  chairs,  two 
desks,  some  files  of  newspapers,  and  two  spittoons.  The  office 
was  taking  care  of  itself  when  I  entered.  There  was  a  card  stick- 
ing upon  the  front  door,  bearing  the  following  inscription  : 


tka  4g.aa.td. 
fWLLL  r-eJuLLn.  a.t  n.c.an.. 
CL  &ea±. 


Supposing  the  invitation  to  be  addressed  to  me,  I  seated  myself, 
and  taking  one  of  the  files,  I  found,  it  contained  some  compara- 


142  HARWOOD. 

tively  recent  numbers  of  the  London  Times.  I  have  long  had  a 
curiosity  to  see  this  paper,  and  was  buried  in  one  of  its  editorials, 
when  I  heard  a  great  shuffling  of  feet  on  the  stairs,  and  presently 
the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Callahan  and  another  gentleman  entered 
the  ©nice.  I  laid  aside  the  paper,  and  rose  as  they  came  in,  and 
Mr.  Callahan  waved  his  hand,  saying,  with  a  slight  Hibernian 
twang: 

"  Keep  your  seat,  sir;  I  shall  be  at  leisure  in  a  moment." 

He  and  his  companion  went  off  instantly  into  an  animated  dia- 
logue, which  they  kept  up  in  an  almost  unknown  tongue.  The 
broker  began  by  saying:  "I  took  a  thousand  shares  of  Pacific 
Canal  to-day,  me  boy,  at  nine  and  three-eighths.  You  can  have  it 
or  not,  as  you  plaze." 

"  I'll  take  it,"  said  the  other ;  "but  it  was  only  a  quarter  yester- 
day." 

"  Thrue  for  you !  but  there  is  a  corner  in  it !" 

"  The  deuce !" 

"  Sure  there  is  thin  I"  said  Mr.  Callahan.  "  It'll  be  ten,  or  ten 
and  a  half  to-morrow." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  deeper  F  said  his  companion. 

"  Oh,  I  was  not  fool  enough  to  run  it  up  on  meself,  ye  divil ;  but 
niver  mind.  It  is  good  enough  for  you  as  it  is." 

"  Well,  you  want  the  money  F 

"  Send  me  your  cheque  in  the  mornin'.  Let  me  see,  nine  and 
three-eighths,  and  the  commission — ninety -four  hundred  and  forty- 
three,  seventy-five.  Ye'll  not  want  a  statement  F 

"  I  guess  I  can  cypher  it  out !"  drawled  the  other.  What  about 
the  copper  F 

"  Illegant !  but  it  will  not  be  on  for  a  week  or  so.  I'll  let  ye 
know  in  time.  Good  day !  Now,  sir ;  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  draw 
me  coat.  It's  hot  as  blazes  !" 

He  looked  quite  cool  and  collected  as  he  sat  opposite  me  in  his 
shirt  sleeves.  He  had  a  sharp  nose,  and  a  pair  of  flimsy  looking 
red  whiskers.  I  handed  him  his  own  letter  to  Mr.  Carr,  and  while 
he  was  reading  it  I  made  up  my  mind,  if  either  of  us  was  to  be 
taken  in,  it  would  not  be  Mr.  Callahan.  When  he  had  finished 
the  letter  he  refolded  it  and  bowing  to  me,  said : 

"  You  represent  Mr.  Carr,  I  presume,  sir  F 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  have  that  honour,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  sir ;  will  you  favour  me  with  your  instructions  F 

"  Will  you  oblige  me,  in  the  first  place,"  said  I,  "by  letting  me 


WHEAL  PENILAND.  143 

understand  a  little  about  this  stock  ?  Mr.  Carr's  instructions  to 
me  were  extremely  vague,  and  I  must  be  guided  by  my  own  judg- 
ment in  the  matter.  I  left  Louisiana  very  unexpectedly,  and  had 
no  opportunity  for  much  conversation  with  him  on  the  subject." 

"With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  Mr. " 

"Harwood,  sir." 

"  Happy  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Harwood.  I  believe  you  are  Mr.  Carr's 
ward  ;  but  we  always  call  him  Judge.  Isn't  he  a  judge  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort  1" 

u  Not  at  present.  He  was  parish  judge  some  years  ago,  but  re- 
signed his  office.  He  retains  the  title,  however,  almost  univer- 
sally. I  am  not " 

"Oh,  well;  divil's  the  difference !  About  the  stock.  Judge  Oarr 
was  here  in  the  summer — a  year  ago — and  I  had  just  returned  from 
a  trip  to  the  copper  regions  on  Lake  Superior.  While  I  was  there, 
my  travelling  companion,  who  is  a  geologist  and  mineralogist  of 
considerable  ability,  induced  me  to  join  him  in  the  purchase  of  a 
tract  of  land,  which  he  thought  very  promising  for  mining  pur- 
poses. We  did  buy  it,  and  the  former  owner  stipulated  for  a 
fourth  part  of  the  stock  in  part  payment,  when  we  had  formed 
the  company  and  issued  certificates.  All  this  has  been  done.  Mr. 
Carr  proposed  taking  a  fourth  interest  at  the  same  time.  The 
original  cost  of  the  land,  with  the  expenses  of  getting  a  charter 
and  other  incidentals,  amount  all  together  to  two  thousand  dol- 
lars. The  former  owner  has  received  his  certificate  for  twelve 
thousand  five  hundred  shares.  Mr.  Ludlow,  the  mineralogist,  has 
his  certificate  for  a  like  amount ;  I  have  mine,  and  here  is  Judge 
Carr's  all  complete,  except  the  filling  in  of  his  name.  The  charter 
establishes  the  corporation  with  a  capital  of  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars, in  fifty  thousand  shares  of  one  dollar  each." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  I  answered ;  "  I  thought  you  said  the  cost 
was  only  two  thousand " 

"  Oh,  the  value  fixed  to  the  shares  is  only  nominal  5  but  nobody 
in  the  world  knows  anything  about  the  cost  excepting  the  parties 
interested.  When  the  stock  comes  upon  the  market  it  will  rep- 
resent a  property  valued  at  fifty  thousand  dollars.  You  need  not 
laugh,  I  can  sell  the  whole  of  it  in  an  hour  for  very  nearly  that 
sum." 

'"  Do  you  really  mean,  Mr.  Callahan,  that  you  can  get  for  Judge 
Carr's  portion  anything  like  ten  thousand  dollars  f ' 

"That's  precisely  what  I  mean,  sir.    The  stock  has  never  been 


144  HARWOOD. 

regularly  before  the  board,  but  I  have  had  private  offers  for  my 
interest  from  several  well  informed  men." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  I,  taking  my  hat,  "I  shall  decide  to-morrow 
about  the  matter.  You  know  I  am  acting  for  another,  and  must, 
therefore,  be  as  prudent  as  possible." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Callahan  ;  "  and  if  you  conclude 
to  resign  Mr.  Carr's  interest  I  will  make  you  a  present  of  five 
hundred  dollars,  either  now  or  to-morrow." 

I  went  to  Mr.  Hardy's  office,  but  he  was  out,  and  I  am  going 
back  there  to-morrow  to  see  him  and  get  his  advice.  Though  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  hesitate,  if  a  very  small  percentage  of  Mr. 
Callahan's  story  is  true. 

THURSDAY,  June  24,  1836. 

Mr.  Hardy  told  me  this  morning  that  I  ought  by  all  means  to 
take  the  stock.  I  did  not  tell  him  the  original  cost,  as  I  thought 
that  was  not  my  secret.  But  he  says  it  will  undoubtedly  sell  at  a 
dollar  a  share  as  soon  as  it  is  on  the  board  list.  Acting  upon  this 
advice  I  went  down  into  Wall  street  again,  and,  it  being  after 
noon,  I  found  Mr.  Callahan  in  his  office.  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
Mr.  Carr's  commission,  when  I  was  with  Mr.  Bayard  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi, arid  not  feeling  at  liberty  to  use  his  money,  I  paid  Mr. 
Callahan  my  beautiful  five  hundred  dollar  note.  It  cost  me  a 
struggle,  too,  as  I  had  determined  to  expend  a  large  part  of  this 
money  in  presents  for  my  Mother  and  sisters.  But  I  knew  I  was 
pursuing  the  proper  course,  so  I  swallowed  my  regrets.  Mr. 
Callahan  asked  me  if  I  was  certain  that  Mr.  Carr's  name  was 
Charles,  and,  as  I  could  not  remember  positively,  he  proposed  to 
fill  up  the  certificate  in  my  name.  There  is  a  blank  form  on  the 
back  for  transfers,  and  he  took  my  signature  (which  he  pro- 
nounced "  a  beautiful  specimen  of  caligraphy")  in  the  transfer 
book. 

"  It  would  be  necessary  for  me  to  have  Mr.  Carr's  signature, 
anyhow,"  he  said,  "  as  I  have  never  seen  his  writing  and  could  not 
identify  it.  It  is  probable  that  he  will  wish  to  divide  his  stock, 
and  if  so,  the  directions  for  transfer  must  come  from  you.  His 
letter  enclosing  the  certificate  for  transfer  will  be  a  sufficient 
voucher." 

I  put  the  certificate  away  in  my  pocket-book,  remarking  that  I 
was  now  one  fourth  owner  of  the  "  Lake  Shore  Mine." 

"  That's  just  it !''  replied  Mr.  Callahan,  "  and  if  the  Judge  should 
happen  to  disapprove  of  your  investment,  it  will  be  about  the 
luckiest  thing  that  could  happen  to  you." 


WHEAL  PENTLAND.  145 

"  It  seems  very  strange,  Mr.  Callahans"  said  I,  "  that  so  small  a 
sum  of  money  should  buy  so  large  and  valuable  a  piece  of  pro- 
perty." 

"  Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of  Wheal  Pentland  F  said  Mr. 
Callahan. 

"  Wheal  Pentland !"  replied  I,  with  a  start $  "  certainly ;  I  have 
heard  of  a  copper  mine  of  that  name  in  Cornwall.'7 

"That's -just  it!"  said  he  again,  with  considerable  emphasis. 
"  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  early  history  of  that  mine?" 

"  ]STo,  sir,"  I  replied,  beginning  to  be  enormously  interested. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  relate  it.  About  thirty  years  ago  a  small  party 
of  gentlemen — there  were  only  eight  of  them — bought  the  mine, 
formed  a  company  and  got  a  charter.  The  par  value  of  the  stock 
was  five  pounds  a  share,  but  there  was  never  more  than  one 
pound  paid  in.  Yery  soon  after  the  company  was  organized  one 
of  the  stockholders  sold  out  his  interest  in  small  lots  at  par.  He 
thought  he  was  making  a  good  thing  of  it,  and  so  he  was,  con- 
sidering his  original  outlay.  The  other  seven,  or  their  heirs,  hold 
the  balance  of  the  stock  to  this  day.  Here  is  a  late  number  of 
the  Times  ;  will  you  plaze  look  at  the  quotation  of  Wheal  Pent- 
land  f — he  handed  ine  the  paper,  pointing  to  the  column  contain- 
ing the  information — "  you  see  it  is  quoted  at  twenty-five  pounds 
a  share." 

"  It  is  true,"  I  answered,  somewhat  bewildered.  "  It  is  set  down 
here  just  as  you  say — one  pound  paid  in  and  quoted  at  twenty 
five  pounds,  offered." 

"  Just  so.  There  is  none  for  sale,  however.  When  the  eighth 
owner  had  sold  out  his  proportion  the  most  of  it  was  bought  at 
higher  prices  by  the  other  stockholders.  The  last  lot  that  was  on 
the  market  was  sold  in  small  parcels  of  one  hundred  shares.  It 
was  sold  by  trustees  to  close  an  estate,  and  it  sold  up  to  twenty- 
five  pounds,  which  has  been  the  standing  bid  for  some  three  or 
four  years  back.  It  is  paying  large  dividends  upon  the  advanced 
price." 

"  Do  you  expect  the  Lake  Superior  mine  to  do  as  well  as  Wheal 
Pentland  f ' 

"  Upon  me  sowl,  I  don't,  thin !"  he  answered.  "  But  copper 
mines  are  generally  remarkably  profitable  or  utterly  worthless.  I 
do  think  the  Lake  Shore  mine  will  be  found  in  the  former  cate- 
gory. It  has  been  carefully  examined  by  scientific  gentlemen,  and 
the  quality  of  the  ores  is  unusually  good,  and  the  quantity  is  sup- 

10 


146  HARWOOD. 

posed  to  be  inexhaustible.  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  in  confidence, 
that  I  intend  to  sell  a  small  portion  of  my  stock  when  it  reaches 
two  dollars  a  share,  and  I  shall  put  the  balance  of  it  away  for  my 
children." 

u  To  go  back  to  Wheal  Pentland,  sir,  allow  me  to  ask  you  a 
question  or  two.  My  father  owned  some  of  this  stock,  but  the  cer- 
tificate was — - — lost.  I  have  reason  to  think  it  still  stands  in  his 
name.  If  my  surmise  is  correct,  it  has  stood  in  this  condition  for 
nearly  or  quite  thirty  years,  and  I  suppose  there  is  an  accumula- 
tion of  unclaimed  dividends.  Now,  what  steps  should  I  take  to 
find  out  something  about  it  ?" 

"  How  much  of  the  stock  did  your  father  own  F 

"  A  thousand  shares." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Callahan,  starting  up  from  his  seat ; 
"a  thousand  shares  of  Wheal  Pentland!  Well,  by  jingo!  that 
bangs  the  divil!  And  all  the  back  dividends!  Why,  by  me 
sowl,  you  are  talking  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
at  least !" 

"  So  it  seems,  sir.  I  didn't  know,  until  quite  recently,  that  my 
father  owned  this  stock.  He  never  knew  it.  It  was  bought  for 
him  by  his  uncle,  who  hid  the  certificate  somewhere — I  don't  know 
where — intending  to  surprise  his  nephew  with  the  gift  at  some 
subsequent  time.  But  he  died  before  the  gift  was  made,  and  I 
am  almost  positive  that  the  stock  still  stands  in  Allen  Harwood's 
name." 

"Well,  one  thing  is  pretty  certain,  anyhow,"  said  Mr.  Callahan, 
after  rubbing  his  head  in  great  perplexity,  "  and  that  is,  that  no 
man  in  his  sinses  is  going  to  slape  long  with  such  an  avalanche  of 
money  hanging  over  his  head.  Have  you  taken  any  steps  what- 
ever in  the  business  f ' 

"  None,  sir.    I  just  asked  you  for  advice  upon  that  point.*' 

"  Suppose  you  lave  the  case  in  my  charge  for  the  present.  Give 
me  your  name  and  your  father's  name  here  in  writing  ;  also  the 
name  and  residence  of  your  father's  uncle,  and  the  date  of  the 
purchase,  as  near  as  you  can  remember  it." 

"  It  was  in  1801." 

"Yery  good.  Write  it  down  and  lave  me  your  address  in 
Louisiana.  You  shall  hear  from  me  in  about  sixty  days." 

I  took  out  my  pocket-book,  preparing  to  deposit  a  fee  with  Mr. 
Callahan,  when  he  put  a  stopper  upon  the  proceeding  by  saying 
there  woidd  be  no  expense  involved  in  the  mere  investigation. 


WHEAL  PENTLAND.  147 

"  I  have  a  correspondeut  in  London  to  whom  I  am  writing  any- 
how, and  it  is  only  the  addition  of  a  few  lines  to  my  letter.  If  we 
get  the  stock  I  shall  charge  you  the  usual  commission  when  the 
transfers  are  made." 

"  I  have  only  a  word  more  to  say,  then,"  I  remarked,  as  I  took 
leave  of  my  new  friend ;  "my  father  was  married  in  the  office  of 
the  British  Consul  at  Baltimore,  and  the  certificate  in  my  mother's 
possession  has  his  official  signature  and  seal " 

"  All  the  better,  Mr.  Harwood  5  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about 
getting  the  money  beyond  some  little  formalities.  Good-bye,  sir ; 
I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  writing  you  good  news  before  the 
year  is  out." 

I  shall  start  for  Baltimore  to-morrow,  D.  V.  I  wrote  to  Mr. 
Mark  Denham  to-night,  merely  saying  that  I  had  no  private 
papers  of  my  Father's  which  I  would  allow  any  stranger  to  see.  I 
also  remarked  that  the  record  I  had  of  Mr.  Denham's  former 
friendly  offices  did  not  encourage  me  to  trouble  him  with  my 
family  matters,  which  were  already  in  "  very,  skillful  hands."  I 
thought  the  last  remark  would  settle  him. 

BALTIMORE,  MONDAY,  July  12, 1836. 

Mrs.  Leland  invited  all  of  us  to  spend  some  days  with  her  at 
her  country  house.  The  weather  has  been  hot  and  the  country 
delightful.  We  have  all  been  there  since  I  returned  from  New 
York.  I  came  into  town  two  or  three  times  a  week  to  attend  to 
business  matters,  and  I  am  now  ready  to  return  to  Louisiana.  I 
expect  to  start  to-morrow  morning.  Dear  Mother  is  up  stairs 
writing  a  letter  to  Ret.  I  don't  know  what  she  will  say  to  her, 
but  I  am  going  to  take  the  letter.  I  can  trust  Mother. 

I  saw  Captain  Delaney  Denham  get  into  one  of  the  Frederick 
cars  a  week  ago.  He  has  started  for  the  South  again,  no  doubt. 
The  servant  we  left  at  home  says  he  called  twice  during  our  ab- 
sence, but  left  no  message.  I  am  pretty  sure  he  did  not  see  me. 
I  feel  a  sort  of  presentiment  that  the  rascal  will  work  some  evil 
upon  me  some  of  these  days,  and  I  am  half  ashamed  to  say  that 
the  thought  makes  me  nervous.  I  know  that  I  am  not  afraid  of 
him,  yet  the  idea  of  meeting  him  again  at  Carrville  makes  my 
heart  beat  faster.  What  folly  this  is !  I  won't  endure  it  any 
longer,  so  I'll  quit  thinking  about  him. 


US  HARWOOD. 


O 


CHAPTEE 

HEARTBROKEN. 
CARRYILLE,  LOUISIANA,  WEDNESDAY,  Aug.  4,  1836. 

H,  I  have  seen  her  again  !  Why  should  I  write  any  more  ? 
The  rest  of  my  life  is  a  blank,  for  I  love  her  !  Yes,  yes.  All 
the  story  is  told  in  a  word.  I  love  her  so,  that  the  wildest  expres- 
sions that  come  into  my  mind  are  tame  and  meaningless.  I  love  her 
without  one  little  spark  of  hope,  but  I  love  her  the  more,  because 
I  know  that  the  miserable  secret  must  be  forever  hidden  in  my 
own  bosom  until  it  eats  away  my  vitals.  All  the  while  I  have 
been  away  I  have  thought  of  her,  dreamed  of  her,  and  longed  for 
her.  I  thought  of  the  joy  with  which  I  should  tell  her  that  I 
was  Allen  Har  wood's  son.  I  thought  I  should  give  her  Mother's 
letter,  and  watch  her  while  she  read  it.  Oh,  how  mad  I  have 
been  !  Oh,  why  did  I  ever  awaken  from  that  foolish  dream  ! 
While  the  steamboat  was  crawling  down  the  long  river  I  counted 
the  hours  that  must  intervene  before  I  could  look  upon  her  fair 
faco  again.  I  cannot  write  any  more  to-night,  for  I  feel  that  I  am 
going  mad  !  I  am  going  out  —  far  into  the  country  —  into  the 
woods,  and  will  try  to  walk  myself  into  weariness.  Shall  I  ever 
sleep  any  more  ? 

MIDNIGHT. 

I  believe  I  am  sobered  again,  and  may  be  able  to  write  some- 
thing like  a  record  of  to-day's  events.  I  feel  sad  enough,  Heaven 
help  me  !  but  I  hope  I  am  able  to  meet  whatever  Providence  may 
have  in  store  for  me  with  the  front  of  a  man.  There  is  nothing  to 
say  about  my  journey  from  Baltimore.  All  I  know  about  it  is 
that  it  continued  many  long  days,  and  that  she  was  at  the  end  of 
it.  Whether  I  studiously  ignored  the  fact  of  the  engagement  be- 
tween her  and  Carr,  or  whether  I  had  thoughts  of  entering  the  lists 
against  him  in  spite  of  it,  I  don't  know.  I  never  said,  even  to 
myself,  that  I  loved  her,  until  to-night.  I  was  in  a  dream.  How 
rudely  have  I  been  awakened  from  it  ! 

The  steamboat  arrived  here  just  after  daylight  this  morning. 
After  breakfast  I  walked  over  to  Mr.  White's  and  was  warmly 
greeted  by  his  household  —  himself,  his  wife,  and  Mr.  Hamilton. 
I  learn,  by  the  way,  that  the  latter  is  formally  installed  pastor  of 
the  church  in  this  village.  Mr.  White  offered  me  his  horse,  and  I 


HEAETBROKEN.  149 

started  for  Manahio.  Before  I  reached  the  creek  I  met  Jacobus, 
and  got  the  following  budget  of  news  :  Mr.  Carr,  the  Judge,  is  in 
Baton  Kotige ;  Miss  Harwood  and  her  brother  are  keeping  house 
at  Harwood,  having  moved  over  there  shortly  after  my  departure 
for  Baltimore,  For  the  last  month  Miss  Eet  has  had  a  guest,  a 
relation  of  her  mother's  family,  Miss  Lucy,  or  Lucille  Latour.  Mr. 
Charley  spent  most  of  his  time  at  Harwood,  and  was  there  that 
moment. 

I  wonder  now  that  the  truth  did  not  flash  upon  me  while  the 
negro  was  speaking,  for  I  remember  the  leer  upon  his  black  face 
when  he  said  "  Mars'r  Charley  pooty  nigh  live  at  Harwood  now !" 
But  I  was  only  conscious  that  a  half  hour  more  would  bring  me  to 
the  presence  of  my  idol,  and,  spurring  my  horse  on  the  road  to 
Harwood,  I  soon  forgot  everything  else.  When  I  reached  the 
house  there  were  evident  signs  of  habitation  about  it.  The  win- 
dows were  open.  There  were  chairs  on  the  broad  verandah.  I 
heard  a  sweet  voice  singing  a  French  song,  and  the  piano  accom- 
paniment—the sounds  issuing  from  the  drawing-room,  where  I 
saw  her  last.  While  I  fastened  my  horse  at  the  rack,  where 
Charley's  was  already  standing,  I  heard  a  man's  voice  join  in  the 
chorus,  and  recognized  Carr's  magnificent  bass.  I  walked  up  the 
steps,  and  into  the  room  through  one  of  the  French  windows,  and 
was  clasped  around  the  waist  in  a  moment  by  Herbert,  who  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Oh,  Ret !  here's  Cousin  Harry  !" 

The  music  suddenly  stopped,  and  Ret  came  forward,  holding 
her  hand  out  to  me.  I  took  it  an  instant  and  dropped  it,  for  I 
was  awake  at  last !  When  I  entered  the  room  she  and  Carr  were 
standing  at  the  piano,  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  the  bright 
smile  upon  his  handsome  face  told  me  how  happy  he  was.  I 
hardly  looked  at  Miss  Latour  when  Carr  introduced  me,  for  I 
was  watching  Miss  Harwood,  and  noticing  the  embarrassment  of 
her  manner.  Women  know  things  by  intuition,  and  I  suppose 
she  knew  that  I  knew  how  matters  stood  between  her  and 
Charley.  We  talked  a  little  about  my  absence  and  about  the 
changes  that  had  occurred  while  I  AYas  away,  until  I  asked  for  a 
renewal  of  the  music. 

"  Come,  Cousin  Lucy,"  said  Herbert,  "  come,  sing  that  song  once 
more." 

u  Yes,  come  on  Lucille,"  said  Charley,  "  there  is  another  stanza. 
Listen,  Harry,  to  the  sweetest  music  you  ever  heard.  I  mean  the 


150  HARWOOD. 

bass  part,  of  course !"  They  went  to  the  piano  again  and  Bet  re- 
mained upon  the  sofa. 

"  You  were  singing  when  I  came  in,"  I  said  to  her ;  "  I  hope  you 
will  allow  me  to  hear  you  once  more." 

"  I  was  not  singing  5  I  do  not  sing,"  she  answered. 

The  song  commenced  again  and  we  were  silent.  When  it  was 
finished,  I  selected  an  English  song  and  asked  Miss  Latour  to  sing 
that.  She  complied  with  a  great  deal  of  grace,  and  sang  it  charm- 
ingly, her  little  accent  making  it  only  more  piquant.  She  speaks 
one  language  about  as  fluently  as  the  other,  though  I  judge  she 
prefers  her  native  tongue. 

"  I  owe  you  a  drubbing,  Master  Harry, "  said  Charley,  when  we 
were  all  out  on  the  verandah,  "  for  going  away  without  seeing 
me,  and  I  intend  to  give  it  to  you  now.  Herbert,  go  get  your 
foils  and  masks." 

" Oh,  that  will  be  charming!"  said  Miss  Latour.  "Here,  you 
shall  fight  on  the  lawn,  and  I  will  crown  the  victor  ;"  so  saying, 
she  began  to  collect  some  flowers,  which  were  growing  luxuriantly 
all  around  the  verandah,  and  with  nimble  fingers  twined  them  into 
a  wreath. 

"  Well,  I  know  whose  temples  that  wreath  will  adorn,"  said 
Charley,  grasping  his  foil.  "Come  on  Harry,  and  meet  your 
fate !" 

"  I  have  already  met  it !"  I  answered,  as  I  followed  him.  As  I 
passed  Eet  I  caught  her  eye.  She  had  heard  me  and  was  looking 
at  me  earnestly  and  sadly.  Oh,  Eet !  does  she  know  how  misera- 
ble I  am  ? 

I  went  through  the  salutations  mechanically,  and  there  were 
two  or  three  introductory  passes  before  I  gave  my  attention  to 
the  business  on  hand.  She  was  sitting  there  looking  at  me,  and 
suddenly  I  determined  to  conquer.  Carr  was  fencing  with  his 
accustomed  skill  and  confidence,  but  I  attacked  him  vigorously, 
and  at  last  touched  him.  slightly  on  the  breast. 

"  Hit,  by  Jove !"  he  said,  dropping  his  point. 

"  Not  quite,  not  quite  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Latour,  dropping  her 
hands.  u  Try  again.7' 

u  Yes,"  I  said,  "  we  won't  count  that.     Come  on." 

We  struggled  five  minutes  longer,  and  Carr's  hand  raised  sud- 
denly, and  I  knew  he  was  going  to  give  me  his  favourite  thrust, 
en  seconde.  If  I  had  not  caught  it  so  frequently  before  in  our 
various  encounters  he  would  have  had  me,  but  I  parried  the 


HEARTBROKEN.  151 

thrust  and  disarmed  him  the  next  instant.  I  bowed  to  him,  and 
taking  off  my  mask,  I  knelt  at  the  little  French  lady's  feet,  while 
she  placed  the  wreath  011  my  head. 

"  How  pale  you  are,'7  she  said,  as  I  rose. 

"  Am  I  pale  f 7  and  I  felt  the  blood  rushing  back  to  my  face. 

"  No,  not  now.  Charles,  mon  ami?  she  added  in  French,  "  what 
a  handsome  fellow  your  friend  is  f 

"  Very,"  said  Charley  in  the  same  language,  "  and  he  also  un- 
derstands French  !77 

Miss  Latour  blushed  scarlet,  and  everybody  else  laughed.  She 
made  some  slight  attempt  at  explanation  and  apology,  and  as 
Carr  continued  to  laugh,  she  ran  into  the  house.  During  the 
morning  Miss  Ear  wood  made  two  or  three  attempts  to  entertain 
me,  but  I  could  perceive  the  restraint  which  she  tried  to  hide.  If 
it  were  not  for  the  ever  present  dread  that  she  also  knows  that  I 
love  her,  I  think  I  could  better  endure  my  own  sorrow.  But  the 
thought  that  she  has  penetrated  my  secret,  and  pities  me,  drives 
me  mad !  I  would  have  pleaded  business  in  town  and  left  5  but  my 
horse  was  put  away,  and  I  had  not  energy  enough  to  make  the 
effort.  I  knew  that  Carr  would  oppose,  and  I  did  not  wish  to 
contend  with  him.  He  was  so  obstreperously  happy  and  jolly  that 
my  long  face  must  have  offered  a  fine  contrast.  Herbert  hung 
about  me,  and  asked  several  times  "  what  the  dickens  was  the 
matter  with  me  f7  After  dinner  Charley  and  I  lighted  our  cigars  and 
walked  out  on  the  lawn.  I  had  put  my  arm  through  the  wreath 
and  it  attracted  his  attention  as  we  started  for  our  walk. 

"  Look  here,  Harry,'7  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  fight  you  again 
for  that  wreath.'7 

"  I'll  give  it  to  you,"  I  said,  "  that  is  if  you  won't  tell  Miss 
Latour." 

"  I'd  rather  fight  for  it,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  here  are  the  foils.    Let's  have  it  out  at  once." 

"  With  this  understanding,"  said  Carr,  "  I  am  to  hit  you  once, 
to  make  us  even,  and  then  I  am  to  hit  you  again  for  the  wreath." 

"  Agreed.'7  He  was  very  eager,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  had 
the  prize  on  his  arm.  Why  should  I  grudge  him  this  poor 
triumph  ? 

"  You  did  not  fence  half  so  well  this  time,"  said  Charley,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Indeed,  I  did  my  best.  The  ladies  were  not  looking  at  us  this 
time,  and  I  missed  the  inspiration.'7 


152  EAEWOOD. 

"  By  Jupiter !  I  believe  I  lost  this  morning  because  she  was  look- 
ing on/7  said  Carr.  "  Hubbard,  my  friend,  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
a  secret.'7 

"  Let  us  sit  down  here,"  I  said.  Now,  I  thought,  if  there  is 
enough  manhood  in  me  to  endure  the  formal  recital  of  all  that  I 
had  seen,  it  will  be  put  to  the  test.  We  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of 
a  fig  tree  on  the  lawn,  and  he  was  too  much  interested  in  his  own 
happiness  to  notice  me  very  closely. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married " 

"  So  I  supposed,"  I  answered  calmly.  u  Come  now,  skip  all  about 
your  happiness  and  her  sweetness.  I  will  take  all  that  for 
granted." 

"  Well,  I  thought  while  Herbert  was  getting  the  foils  and  we 
four  were  standing  together  on  the  gallery,  that  we  would  make 
two  very  passable  looking  couples  to  stand  up  before  the  parson." 

"  No  doubt  about  the  beauty  of  the  ladies  anyhow,"  I  replied, 
"  and  the  less  we  say  about  their  partners  the  better." 

"  I  am  sure  your  beauty  is  established  upon  the  very  best  author- 
ity. Poor  Lucille !  She  never  dreamed  of  your  understanding 
Erench.  You  see  we  have  been  talking  about  you  during  your 
absence,  for  I  had  set  my  heart  upon  having  you  for  groomsman, 
and  Lucille  has  been  anxiously  waiting  to  inspect  you,  to  see  if 
you  would  do." 

"  Have  you  consulted  Miss  Harwood  on  the  subject  *P  I  asked. 
I  was  holding  myself  in  an  iron  grasp,  trampling  upon  a  thousand 
thoughts,  as  they  arose  in  my  mind. 

u  Undoubtedly.  She  approves  of  my  choice  entirely.  Dear  Eet 
gives  you  credit  for  first  knocking  the  foundations  from  under  my 
free-thinking  theories.  I  told  her  of  our  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject, just  before  I  went  to  New  Orleans.  You  know  I  am  no  longer 
an  infidel." 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  it,  dear  Carr,"  I  replied,  shaking 
his  offered  hand.  "  And  now,  dear  friend,  will  you  do  me  a  kind- 
ness, a  real  kindness  f ' 

"Why,  Harry!  what  ails  you*?"  answered  Carr,  in  amazement  at 
my  excitement.  "  I  will  do  anything  you  ask  me." 

"  Then  do  not  talk  to  me  any  more  about  yonr  marriage  until 
the  time  arrives."  He  gazed  with  wondering  eyes  at  me  as  I  con- 
tinued. u  Dear  Charley,  since  I  saw  you  last  something  has  hap- 
pened. I  know  you  will  not  ask  me  what  it  is,  but  I  tell  you  this 
much — something  has  occurred  to  me  since  we  parted,  or  has 


HEAETBEOKEN.  153 

been  revealed  to  me  at  least,  that  has  inflicted  a  wound  which  no 
time  can  heal.  I  look  for  nothing  in  this  life  but  grace  to  endure. 
Alas !  I  am  not  the  lighthearted  boy  to  whom  you  were  so  kind? 
and  who  learned  to  love  you  so  soon.  I  am  a  man,  old  in  sorrow 
and  in  self-denial.  Do  not  look  at  me  with  those  sorrowful  eyes,  or 
I  shall  break  down." 

"  I  suspect  I  know,  or  guess,  Harry.  It  was  in  Baltimore,  was 
it?" 

"  No.  Don't  ask  me  any  questions,"  and  I  stamped  violently. 
"  I  only  wish  to  say  to  you  that  while  the  wound  is  so  sore  any 
talk  of  marriage  maddens  me.  Will  you  bear  with  me  a  little 
while  P 

"  Surely.    If  you  would  rather  not  be  groomsman " 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  allow  you  to  recall  that  invitation.  I 
hope  I  am  equal  to  the  emergency.  My  new  manhood  is  harden- 
ing day  by  day,  and  I  shall  be  placid  enough  soon." 

"  And  happy,  Harry,  I  hope." 

"  Nevermore,"  I  said,  pressing  his  hand.  "  When  are  you  to  be 
made  happy?" 

"  Next  month,  I  hope.  She  says  October.  I  wanted  to  be  mar- 
ried sooner.  But  she  vows  she  won't  be  married  this  summer." 

Her  last  words  to  me  were  that  she  would  not  be  married  this 
summer ! 

"  It  is  all  settled  then,"  I  said,  as  we  walked  toward  the  house. 
"  I  will  be  ready  when  you  want  me." 

The  ladies  and  Herbert  were  seated  on  the  verandah.  The  boy 
had  a  handsome  cane  in  his  hand  which  he  brought  to  me,  saying 
bashfully : 

"I  wanted  to  make  a  nice  speech,  dear  cousin  Harry,  when  I  gave 
you  this.  Please  take  it  with  my  love.  I  got  Charley  to  buy  it  for 
me  while  he  was  in  New  Orleans,  but  you  went  away  before  he 
got  back.  I  wrote  to  him  the  day  after  you  and  I  were  swim- 


"  I  thank  you,  cousin,  for  your  beautiful  present,  and  I  shall  value 
it  very  highly  for  your  sake.  Why,  it  is  a  sword  cane  !" 

"  Yes,  pull  it  out,"  said  Herbert.  The  blade  is  broad  and  strong, 
and  as  long  as  the  cane.  It  is  truly  a  formidable  weapon. 

" I  walked  down  Chartres  street,"  said  Carr,  "after  I  received 
Herbert's  letter,  and  I  met  Captain  Delaney  in  one  of  the  stores. 
He  was  buying  a  cane  exactly  like  this,  and  I  thought  I  could  trust 
his  judgment.  You  see  it  is  not  at  all  like  the  ordinary  blades  you 


154  HAH  WOOD. 

find  in  sword  canes.  It  is  a  regular  sword  blade,  and  if  you  can 
manage  it  as  well  as  you  did  the  foil  this  morning,  you  need  not 
be " 

"  But  you  have  got  the  crown,"  said  Lucille. 

"  Yes,  ma  belle.  We  fought  for  it  fairly.  I  hifc  him  twice,  plump 
and  fair,  and  he  was  obliged  to  relinquish  it." 

I  came  away  at  dark.  After  I  got  to  town  I  tried  to  write  a 
brief  account  of  the  day's  proceedings,  but  I  had  been  subjected  to 
severe  tension  all  day,  and  there  was  a  reaction.  I  feel  wonder- 
fully calm  now;  and  wonderfully  miserable  too. 

After  I  had  tried  in  vain  to  record  in  my  diary  all  that  I  have 
now  written,  I  started  out  for  a  walk.  I  suppose  it  was  nearly 
or  quite  ten  o'clock.  I  walked  out  on  the  Baton  Eouge  road,  and 
noticed  nothing  until  I  arrived  at  the  bank  of  the  Manahio.  I 
wanted  to  go  to  the  Laurels.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  was  first  con- 
scious of  this  desire  when  I  found  the  creek  rippling  between  me 
and  the  trees.  The  obstacle  only  served  to  interest  me  a  little,  but 
did  not  cause  me  to  alter  my  intention  for  a  moment.  I  slipped 
off  my  boots  and  trousers  and  waded  across  at  the  usual  ford,  and 
then  sat  down  on  the  soft  grass  and  dressed.  I  had  enough  sense 
left  to  remember  that  there  might  be  snakes  in  the  long  grass,  and 
to  replace  my  boots.  I  then  walked  into  the  grove  and  sat  down 
at  the  root  of  one  of  the  big  trees.  I  heard  nothing  but  the  chirp 
of  ten  millions  of  insects  in  the  trees,  the  croak  of  frogs  in  the 
distant  bayou,  and  the  murmur  of  the  stream.  I  thought  of  the 
affectionate  boy  whose  life  I  had  saved  at  that  spot,  and  tried  to 
resolve  that  I  would  exert  the  influence  I  might  have  over  him  to 
do  him  good,  not  only  for  his  sake,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  another 
who  loved  him.  I  tried  not  to  think  of  her,  but  it  was  so  recently 
that  she  sat  there  just  before  me,  while  her  horse  pawed  the  ground 
impatiently.  Then  I  thought  of  the  legend  which  had  peopled  this 
locality  with  horrors,  and  I  rose  to  my  feet  involuntarily  and 
glanced  round  the  grove.  Why  should  I  deny  that  I  felt  my  heart 
thumping  painfully  against  my  ribs  as  I  descried  a  figure  slowly 
and  noiselessly  advancing  into  the  area  ?  There  was  a  cloud  over 
the  moon  and  I  could  only  see  the  outljnes  of  a  tall  form,  which 
seemed  to  be  human,  but  which  moved,  without  a  sound.  I  had 
my  new  cane  in  my  hand,  and  instinctively  drew  the  sword,  and 
advanced  a  step  from  the  shadow  of  the  tree.  As  I  drew  near  I 
thought  I  recognized  Misty,  and  a  moment  after  he  spoke. 

"  Young  chief  come  back  ?    Welcome !    Shake  hand !" 

I  slipped  the  sword  back  into  the  sheath,  and  cordially  greeted 


HEARTBROKEN.  155 

iny  old  friend.  He  was  very  much  changed  in  appearance.  He 
still  wore  his  hunting  shirt,  but  the  leggings  were  gone.  He  had 
a  tomahawk  and  knife  in  a  broad  belt,  which  also  bore  a  bullet 
pouch.  His  powder  horn  was  suspended  under  his  left  arm  by  a 
thong,  and  he  carried  his  rifle  in  his  hand.  On  his  head  was  a 
cap  made  of  raccoon  skin,  with  several  feathers  stuck  in  it.  There 
was  no  sign  of  intoxication  about  him.  Altogether  he  looked  like 
a  warrior.  He  noticed  my  surprise,  and  spoke  again. 

"  Misteono  hunter  no  longer.  Warrior  again.  Let  the  young 
chief  go  to  Indian's  wigwam,  and  get  the  skin  of  the  tiger  cat. 
Misteono  dressed  it  for  young  brother." 

"  You  don't  mean  to-night,  my  friend  F 

"  !N"o,  no !"  he  answered.  "  Birne-by.  Brother  find  the  skin  and 
take  it.  Misteono  going  away." 

"Where  are  you  going,  chief  P  I  asked. 

"Yes,  chief  again !  Misteono's  tribe  is  on  war  path.  Chief 
going  to  lead  them !" 

"  When  are  you  going,  Misteono  P 

"  Soon  go.  Want  one  scalp  to  take  back  to  my  tribe.  Get  it 
bimeby." 

At  this  instant  I  heard  voices  and  the  tramp  of  horses'  hoofs. 
The  Indian  held  up  his  finger  to  enjoin  silence,  and  listened  in- 
tently. The  sounds  came  nearer,  and  I  heard  some  one  say, 

"  Not  to-night,  d — n  it.  I  don't  half  like  this  neighbourhood 
after  dark  !" 

"  Pooh !  don't  be  a  fool !"  said  the  other.  "  Come  on,  I  want  to 
look  at  these  trees."  I  thought  I  recognized  this  voice,  and  almost 
as  he  spoke  the  two  came  into  view,  through  the  bushes. 
They  saw  us,  just  as  I  recognized  Captain  Delaney  and  Becket. 
The  latter  wrenched  his  horse  round,  saying, 

u  There  are  the  Densons,  I  swear!"  and  he  galloped  off,  followed 
by  Delaney.  The  moon  was  shining  on  their  faces,  and  I  could 
detect  the  look  of  horror  which  sprang  into  them  as  they  caught 
sight  of  us  in  the  shade  of  the  trees.  In  a  few  minutes  we  lost 
the  sound  of  their  horses'  hoofs. 

"  Cap'n  brave  warrior,"  said  the  Indian,  a  he  not  come  back  to- 
night. Young  chief  going  back  ?  Misteono  go  to  wigwam.  Good 
night." 

This  was  a  queer  adventure,  and  it  has  set  me  to  thinking.  I 
will  overhaul  those  letters  again  to-morrow.  I  have  an  idea !  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  I  am  weary  at  last,  and  I  believe  I  shall 
sleep  a  little. 


156  EARWOOD. 


CHAPTEE   XXI. 

EECOGNITION. 

THURSDAY,  August  5, 1836. 

I  HA  YE  read  a  little  of  yesterday's  record  to-night,  aiid  I  am 
half  ashamed  of  myself.  I  am  twenty  to-day,  and  ought  to 
be  man  enough  to  endure  the  rubs  of  this  life.  I  have  been  going 
about  to-day,  and  feel  much  more  like  my  old  self.  Perhaps  I  may 
be  able  to  look  back  upon  these  trials  when  the  wounds  heal  up? 
and  see  how  they  have  done  me  good.  If  this  wedding  were  only 
over,  and  the  whole  thing  finally  settled ! 

Mr.  Gowrie  keeps  a  store  here,  and  ships  cotton  for  the  neigh" 
bouring  planters.  He  is  a  thorough  Scot,  with  high  cheek  bones 
and  sandy  hair  and  whiskers.  He  takes  snuff,  and  it  is  a  treat  to 
see  him  helping  his  little  turned-up  nose  to  its  refreshment.  He 
is  snappish  and  cross-grained,  but  is  honest  and  intelligent.  I 
think  he  is  rather  a  favourite  with  his  clients.  I  walked  down  to 
his  establishment  this  morning,  as  I  saw  Becket  there,  and 
wanted  to  hear  if  he  was  telling  his  adventure  of  last  night,  but 
he  was  not.  He  and  Gowrie  had  been  disputing  about  the  ship- 
ment of  some  cotton,  and  as  I  stepped  upon  Gowrie's  gallery  I 
heard  him  say, 

"  I'll  no  do  it,  Maister  Becket.  I  wadna  alter  my  books  for  the 
whole  Harwood  plantation." 

"  I  might  as  well  talk  to  a  stone  as  to  you,"  replied  the  over- 
seer. "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Hubbard.  By-the-bye,  you  are  from 
Maryland.  Did  you  ever  go  down  to  tne  mouth  of  the  Chesa- 
peake in  one  of  those  pungy  schooners  that  do  the  turtle  fishing *P 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  have.  I'll  tell  you  how  they  manage  the  beasts.  After 
they  get  them  on  deck,  they  just  head  them  off  till  the  turtle  gets 
his  foolish  head  against  the  mast.  Then  they  are  safe.  They 
will  keep  butting  away  at  that  mast  while  the  voyage  lasts.  We 
always  called  them  Scotchnim,  because  they  were  so  darned  ob- 
stinate and  stupid.  Good  morning,"  and  he  rode  off. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Mr.  Gowrie,  u  walk  in,  sir.  So  yon  chap  is  a 
countryman  of  yours  F 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  am  a  Marylander,  but  I  never  saw  him 
until  I  came  here.  May  I  ask  what  the  difficulty  is  between  you?" 


RECOGNITION.  157 

"  Oh,  just  nothing.  I  have  always  shipped  the  Harwood  cotton, 
aud  I  believe  the  young  leddy  has  been  investigating  Mr.  Beckefs 
accounts.  Anyway,  he  wanted  rue  to  give  him  a  statement  of 
shipments  under  false  dates,  but  I  would  not  do  it.  That's  all." 

"  You  were  perfectly  right,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Why,  one  might  as  well  tell  a  lie  with  his  tongue  as  with  his 
pen,  ye  know.  I  am  too  auld  to  begin  that  business." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  never  violate  the  truth,  Mr.  Gowrie. 

'  Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 
Is  strong  as  Ailsa  rock.'  " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  the  Scot  dryly.  "  But  I  wadna  quot  at  all, 
if  I  were  you,  unless  I  could  quot  correctly." 

"  Do  you  mean,  sir,"  said  I,  half  amused  and  half  offended, 
"  that  I  have  misquoted  Sir  Walter." 

"Just  so.  Sir  Walter  never  wrote  the  lines  as  you  quotfd 
them." 

"  I  would  be  willing  to  lay  a  small  wager  that  you  are  mis- 
taken, Mr.  Gowrie.  I  read  Sir  Walter  very  constantly,  and  the 
passage  from  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  I  read  only  to-day." 

"  Weel,  it  is  a  puir  cause  that  has  to  be  bolstered  up  by  a  bet," 
and  Mr.  Gowrie  walked  into  an  inner  room  and  returned  with  a 
well  thumbed  volume.  uHere  is  the  book,  and  ye  can  satisfy 
yourself." 

I  soon  found  the  passage,  and  sure  enough  I  had  changed  a 
word.  "  It  is  'firm ?  as  Ailsa  rock,  Mr.  Gowrie.  I  acknowledge 
my  error." 

"  It  is  no  guid  to  be  too  positive,  ye  see,"  said  Mr.  Gowrie,  with 
a  grin  of  satisfaction.  "  I  was  sure  of  the  case,  because  I  know  the 
pome  almaist  by  heart;  besides,  I  am.  weel  acquaint  with  the  local- 
ity, having  seen  Ailsa  Craig  more  than  once,  when  I  lived  in 
Glasgow." 

"  Are  you  from  Glasgow  f  I  inquired,  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Yes,  I  was  born  near  the  city,  and  lived  there  a  gude  mony 
years." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  or  hear  of  Hector  Macailan,  of  Linmuir  ?" 

"  Macailan !"  and  he  stared  at  me  with  astonishment.  "  And 
where  did  you  hear  that  name  F 

"  I  have  seen  the  name  in  some  family  papers  in  my  possession. 
If  you  know  anything  about  this  laird,  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a 
question  or  two." 


Io8  HARWOOD. 

11  Ye  may  ask  the  questions,  and  I'll  tell  you  no  lies  if  I  ain  not 
able  to  give  you  the  information  you  want." 

"  Did  you  know  Mr.  Macailan,  of  Lininuir  '!" 

"  Yes,  I  knew  such  a  mon." 

li  Did  you  ever  see  a  Mr.  Denham,  who  visited  Mr.  Macailan 
thirty  years  ago  F 

"  It  is  just  possible  that  I  did.  Fd  rather  ye  wad  not  be  so 
particular  about  names,  ye  see." 

"Well,  then,  please  answer  me  one  more  question.  Have  you 
ever  seen  here,  in  Carrville,  anybody  that  knew  Macailan,  or  that 
you  knew  in  Glasgow  ?" 

"  Come  into  the  back  room,  Mr.  Hubbard.  Jamie !  Jamie  V  A 
small  likeness  of  Mr.  Gowrie  answered  the  summons  and  came 
forward.  "  Keep  a  look  out  a  wee  bit,  laddie.  I  am  gaun  into 
the  counting  room.  Call  me  if  anybody  comes."  So  saying,  he 
led  the  way  into  his  counting  room,  at  the  back  of  the  building. 
He  handed  me  a  chair,  and  then  perched  himself  upon  a  high 
stool  that  stood  at  the  desk. 

"  Ye  seem  to  be  a  respectable  young  mou,  Mr.  Hubbard.  I 
have  seen  you  twice  at  the  church,  and  ye  listened  to  the  minister 
instead  of  gaping  round  the  church,  as  most  young  men  do.  I 
think  the  better  of  you,  too,  because  ye  can  read  Walter  Scott. 
I'll  find  ye  plenty  of  young  men  in  this  town  that  can  quotf  <  Don 
Juan'  for  you  by  the  yard; — but  not  many  that  ever  heard  of 
4  The  Lord  of  the  Isles.' " 

"  Walter  Scott  is  a  great  favourite  of  mine,  sir ;  though  he  is 
rather  hard  upon  Presbyterians  sometimes." 

"  Weel,  let  him  have  his  fling !  What  was  it  you  were  wanting 
to  ask  ?  Ye  need  not  just  call  people  by  their  names.  I  can  un- 
derstand you  without  that." 

"  I  have  reason  to  think  that  a  man  is  sometimes  in  Carrville, 
under  a  different  name,  who  once  visited  Mr.  Macailau  in  Scot- 
land. It  concerns  me  very  much  to  be  certain  of  the  fact,  as  I 
might  be  able  to  thwart  some  evil  intentions  of  his." 

"It  is  vera  curious — but  John  Harwood  said  vera  much  the 
same  thing  to  me  the  night  before  he  died." 

"  He  probably  had  the  same  reasons."  Mr.  Gowrie  looked  at 
me  very  curiously.  "  I'll  tell  you  in  confidence,  Mr.  Gowrie — that 
I  am  related  to  the  Harwoods,  though  they  do  not  know  it,  and  I 
do  not  wish  them  to  know  it  at  present.  You  need  not  hesitate  to 
trust  me.  I  hope  I  shall  do  whatever  I  do  in  the  fear  of  God." 


RECOGNITION.  159 

"  I'll  no  deny,''  said  Mr.  Gowrie  after  a  pause,  "  that  I  have  seen 
a  person  here,  and  also  in  Pensacola,  who  vera  much  resembles  a 
friend  of  Macallan's.  He  is  an  aulder  man  than  he  was  thirty 
years  ago,  but  he  looks  vera  much  the  same."  Here  Jamie  called 
his  father,  who  slid  down  from  his  stool.  "  Ye  need  na'  refer  to 
me  as  having  given  ye  any  information,"  he  added,  cautiously,  as 
we  left  the  office — "  ye  know  that  I  am  only  positive  about  a  re- 
semblance after  all  !'7 

I  am  going  to  Harwood  again  to-morrow. 

FRIDAY,  August  6, 1836. 

This  has  been  an  eventful  day.  I  spent  most  of  the  morning  in 
a  revision  of  Bet's  bundle  of  letters,  and  I  Came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  lead-covered  box  is  hidden  somewhere  in  the  Haunted 
Laurels.  The  three  trees  stand  in  a  triangle — almost  a  right 
angle.  I  have  seen  them  again  to-day,  and  have  decided  just 
where  the  probable  spot  is,  namely,  on  a  line  between  the  two 
trees  most  remote  from  each  other — because  that  line  is  the 
hypothenuse  of  the  triangle — and  nine  feet  from  the  tree  that 
stands  on  the  margin  of  the  creek.  I  had  noticed  several  times 
the  relative  position  of  these  trees,  and  the  other  night  when  I 
was  there  I  remember  that  the  well  known  problem  about  the 
"sum  of  the  squares  of  the  base  and  perpendicular  being 
equal  to  the  square  of  the  hypothenuse,"  kept  coming  into  my 
mind.  That,  joined  to  the  fact  that  Delaney — who  has  somehow 
got  some  information  on  the  subject — had  the  hardihood  to  visit 
the  spot  near  midnight,  occurred  to  me  while  I  was  writing  in  my 
journal,  after  I  had  returned  to  town  on  Wednesday  night.  I  am 
going  to  make  a  thorough  investigation  to-morrow. 

After  dinner,  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  spruce  cap- 
tain— who  however  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  me — I  got  Mr. 
White's  horse  and  went  to  Harwood.  I  stopped  at  the  Laurels 
only  long  enough  to  notice  the  exact  localities  a  little  more  par- 
ticularly. I  am  hastening  to  record  my  interview  with  Bet,  which 
is  to  me  the  most  interesting  of  the  events  of  the  day. 

The  doors  and  windows  were  all  open  when  I  reached  the  house, 
but  no  one  was  visible.  I  rang  the  bell,  and  Phany  came  imme- 
diately. I  asked  for  Miss  Bet,  and  learning  that  she  was  at  home 
I  walked  into  the  drawing  room,  while  Phany  went  to  announce 
me.  When  she  came  I  was  startled  to  see  that  she  wore  a  white 
dress — though  there  were  black  ribbons  about  her  person.  She 


160  EAEWOOD. 

« 
looked  so  different — but  oh,  so  lovely !    There  was  also  something 

in  her  manner  betokening  her  constant  consciousness  of  her  ap- 
proaching happiness — a  nervous  and  hurried  manner  of  speaking. 
Heaven  forgive  me ! — I  cannot  help  feeling  that  she  does  not 
love  Charley  Carr  as  much  as  she  thinks  she  does !  But  I  have 
promised  myself  to  bury  that  subject  out  of  sight. 

"Lucille  has  gone  with  Charles  and  Herbert  to  Mr.  Maltby's," 
she  said,  after  a  few  commonplaces  about  the  weather.  "  Lucille 
wished  to  ride  Midnight,  and  I  have  been  left  to  my  own  resources 
all  day." 

"  I  am  glad  it  has  so  happened,"  I  answered,  "  as  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  a  little.  Carr  has  asked  me  to  assist  at  a  certain  cere- 
mony  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  he  told  me.  Are  those  the 
letters  you  got  from  me  P 

"  Yes ;"  and  I  gave  her  the  packet.  She  touched  a  bell  on  the 
table,  and  Phany  appeared. 

'•  Phany,  go  bring  the  black  box  from  my  room.  You  have  done 
with  the  letters  T  she  said  inquiringly. 

"For  the  present — yes.  Though  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you  about  them." 

"  That  will  do,  Phany,"  said  she,  as  she  took  the  box.  The  boy 
vanished,  and  she  replaced  the  packet  in  the  closet  in  the  chimney 
jamb.  She  then  resumed  her  seat,  and  looked  at  me,  waiting  with 
apparent  anxiety  for  the  next  word. 

"  When  you  gave  me  the  letters  I  presume  you  thought  your 
cousins  in  Baltimore  were  Barnard  Harwood's  widow  and  chil- 
dren ;  is  it  not  so  F 

"  Certainly." 

"  They  are  not.    Mrs.  Harwood  is  the  widow  of  Allen  Harwood, 

who  was  supposed "    She  had  leaned  forward,  covering  her 

face  with  her  hands,  and  I  saw  the  tears  coming  through  her  fin- 
gers. I  never  could  endure  the  sight  of  a  grown  woman  shedding 
tears,  and  I  was  greatly  shocked. 

"  Miss  Harwood !  Eet!  shall  I  ring  the  bell  f    You  are  ill ! 

"  No,  no !"  she  said,  without  looking  up.    "  Go  on." 

"  I  have  a  letter  here  which  Mr.  Harwood  left  for  his  son.  I 
thought  you  perhaps  would  like  to  read  it,  and  have  brought  it 
with  me." 

"  Oh  yes !"  she  said,  taking  my  father's  letter.  "  Will  you  ex- 
cuse me  a  little  while  ?  There  are  some  books  on  the  table.  I 
will  return  presently." 


EEGOONITION.  161 

I  waited  a  long  time — it  seemed  hours— but  she  did  not  return. 
I  opened  the  books — but  I  don't  know  what  they  were  about. 
Then  I  went  to  the  piano,  and  ran  my  fingers  over  the  keys. 
There  is  a  composition  of  Beethoven's  which  I  learned  long  ago — 
I  forget  the  name  of  it — and  I  began  to  play  it.  As  I  went  on 
with  it  I  grew  calmer  and  sadder.  While  I  was  playing  she  came 
back.  She  stood  by  the  piano,  and  I  thought  the  melancholy 
strains  of  the  music  affected  her,  for  her  eyes  were  still  moist. 

"  You  seem  to  play  with  great  feeling,"  she  said,  when  I  left  the 
instrument.  "  You  don't  look  as  happy  as  you  should  be." 

"  Who  I  I  ?  I  am  not  happy.  Are  you  pleased  to  know  that 
your  relations  are  not  the  family  of  Barnard  F 

"  I  have  been  in  my  room,"  she  answered,  gravely  and  solemnly 
— "  trying  to  thank  my  beneficent  Father  for  the  unspeakable  joy 
this  letter  has  brought  to  me  f  and  she  gave  me  back  my  letter. 
"  I  cannot  understand  why  you  should  feel  differently." 

"  I  was  intrusted  with  another  letter,"  I  said,  and  I  gave  her  my 
Mother's ;  "  if  you  will  read  it  now,  I  will  go  back  to  Beethoven ;" 
and  I  went  through  the  piece  again.  I  looked  round  at  her  once 
or  twice  while  I  was  playing,  and  I  saw  her  brush  the  tears  from 
her  eyes  as  she  refolded  the  letter,  though  her  face  was  like  sun- 
shine. 

"Do  you  know  the  contents  of  my  letter?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  one  word  of  it." 

u  I  will  perhaps  let  you  see  it  at  another  time,"  she  said,  putting 
the  letter  in  her  key  box ;  "I  want  to  read  it  again  before  I  decide 
upon  that  point.  And  now  please  to  tell  me  why  you  are  not 
happy." 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  Miss  Harwood." 

"  You  called  me  *  Eet '  just  now !" 

"  Did  I  ?    Pardon  me,  I  did  not  know  it  until  it  was  too  late." 

"You  wished  me  to  call  you  cousin  Harry  two  months  ago. 
Have  you  changed  your  mind  since  then  ?" 

"  No  indeed !    I  wish " 

"  You  wish  what  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  might  venture  to  call  you  cousin  Eet,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  you  may,  cousin  Harry.  You  see  I  set  you  the  example. 
Didn't  you  risk  your  life  to  save  Herbert's  F  she  said  impetuously, 
the  tears  springing  to  her  dear  eyes  again. 

I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  Oh  how  near  I  was  to  an  insane 
confession  of  everything — my  relationship,  and  my  love !  I  don't 

11 


162  HARWOOD. 

know  what  restrained  me.  I  walked  away  to  the  window,  and 
stood  there,  with  my  back  to  her,  resolutely  choking  down  every 
thought  and  impulse  while  I  reflected  that  I  must  tell  her  before 
long  that  I  was  her  cousin,  as  I  was  not  willing  to  wait  upon  her 
bridegroom  under  an  assumed  Lame. 

"  You  will  not  allow  me  to  offer  you  any  consolation  because 
you  will  not  tell  me  why  you  require  it.  Something  has  occurred 
since  you  left  Louisiana,  which  you  have  not  told  me  P 

"  You  are  so  much  changed  since  I  first  saw  you,"  I  replied, 
avoiding  her  look.  "  Then  you  were  composed  and  self-possessed 
— though  you  were  sad; — now  you  are  nervous  and  impetuous — 
yet  I  do  not  believe  you  are  much  less  melancholy.  By-the-bye, 
I  will  bring  Burton  out  to  you  to  read." 

"You  also  are  changed  since  you  saved  Herbert's  life.  Before, 
you  were  cheerful  and  apparently  contented; — now,  you  are 
moody  and  restless  and — mysterious." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  cause  of  my  unhappiness — because  I 
know  your  kind  heart  would Oh  cousin!  there  is  an  im- 
pending calamity  ever  before  my  eyes  !  I  cannot  escape  it — do 
what  I  will.  And  I  am  trying  to  fortify  myself  in  advance — try- 
ing to  see  clearly  the  path  of  duty  and  honour,  and  trying  to  banish 
every  selfish  consideration  that  might  lead  me  astray.  It  is  a  dire 
struggle — but  you  cannot  help  me.  I  must  go  through  this  trial 
alone." 

"You  have  told  me  nothing  about  my  cousin  Alice  and  her 
children,"  she  said  suddenly ;  "  are  they  well  T ' 

"  Quite  well — all  of  them." 

"  Are  you  sure  P 

"  Yes.  I  saw  them  the  day  I  left  Baltimore.  They  are  all  well 
and  happy." 

"  I  shall  ask  you  no  more  questions,  but  I  intend  to  unravel 
this  mystery  in  my  own  way.  Have  you  seen  Captain  Delaney  P 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  with  a  start ;  "  it  was  about  him  that  I  wished 
to  talk  to  you.  I  saw  him  at  midnight  on  Wednesday  at  the 
Laurels." 

"  What  were  you  doing  at  the  Laurels  at  midnight  P 

"  I nothing.  I  was  not  well  and  could  not  sleep,  so  I  walked 

out  there  and  stayed  an  hour.  Never  mind  me,  but  listen  to  what 
I  have  to  tell  you." 

"  Stop  a  moment !"  she  said,  while  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
face.  "You  were  here  on  Wednesday.  Did  Charles  say  any- 


RECOGNITION.  163 

thing — do  anything  that  displeased  or  troubled  you!    Answer 
me,  if  you  please." 

"  Nothing — nothing  I  Carr  has  been  my  constant  friend,  and 
has  never  given  me  a  nioment7s  pain — at  least  not  intentionally." 
She  looked  steadily  at  me  while  I  spoke. 

"  What  were  you  saying  under  the  fig  tree  yonder  ?  I  saw  you 
from  my  window,  and  I  saw  that  you  were  violently  agitated." 

"  You  must  have  fancied  that.    Carr  was  telling  me  about  his 

marriage  " — I  got  the  word  out  with  an  effort — "  and  we  talked 

about  very  little  else." 

"  What  did  he  say  about  me  I"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"NotMng — except  that  you  did  not  object  to  my  participation 
in  the  ceremony."  As  I  looked  into  her  bright  eyes  and  upon  her 
burning  cheeks  I  almost  gave  way  again,  but  I  did  not.  u  If  you 
don't  want  to  drive  me  mad  please  talk  about  something  else." 

"  I  am  satisfied,    Now  for  Captain  Delaney !" 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  he  has  written  a  letter  which  he  signed 
'  Mark  Denham.'  I  saw  it,  and  I  saw  him  in  Baltimore.  The 
writing  is  precisely  like  that  in  those  letters  signed  f  Nemo'  in 
your  packet.  If  you  remember  Allen  Harwood's  letter  to  his  son 
you  will  recollect  that  a  Mr.  Denham  informed  him  of  your  father's 
death  fifteen  or  twenty  years  before  it  occurred.  I  believe  Captain 
Delaney  was  the  author  of  that  epistle,  also." 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  Mark  Denham  ?" 

"  I  do.  While  I  think  of  it,  I  wish  to  say  that  he  is  very  inti- 
mate with  your  overseer— Becket.  I  have  seen  them  frequently 
together.  Becket  was  with  him  at  the  Laurels  the  other  night. 
They  saw  me  and  the  Indian  half  hidden  in  the  shade  of  the  trees 
and  took  us  for  ghosts  of  the  Densons.  They  were  frightened 
and  galloped  away.  Now,  this  Denham  is  capable  of  any  villany, 
and  I  think  you  should  watch  your  overseer." 

u  He  is  going  to  leave  Harwood  next  week.  I  have  reason  to 
think — indeed  I  know  that  he  is  not  strictly  honest.  Herbert  has 
undertaken  the  management  of  the  plantation  himself." 

"  I  advise  you  to  keep  watch  in  the  meantime.  Do  not  think 
me  foolish  5  but  I  am  labouring  under  a  constant  presentiment  of 
evil  to  come  from  the  hands  of  this  bad  man.  Will  you  ask  Her- 
bert to  invite  me  to  stay  here  at  night  for  three  or  four  nights  to 
come  ?  Don't  look  at  me  so  reproachfully !  If  the  evil  that  I 
dread  threatens  you  I  would  be  here  to  guard  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  think  a  formal  invitation  necessary.    While 


164  HABWOOD. 

Herbert  lives  and  while  I  live  you  will  be  more  than  welcome  at 
Harwood,  at  any  hour,  day  or  night,  for  all  time  to  come." 

"  I  thank  you,  and  I  regret  that  I  asked  for  an  invitation.  I 
will  happen  to  be  here  then.  Now,  please  understand  the  case.  I 
don't  want  to  say  anything  to  Charley,  because  I  don't  want  to 
alarm  him,  and  I  don't  want  him  to  know  all  that  we  know.  It 
would  seem  to  be  more  proper  for  him  to  stay  here " 

"  It  would  be  very  improper,"  she  said,  her  cheeks  burning 
again.  "  Your  arrangement  is  the  best." 

"  Well,  let  Herbert  ride  a  little  way  with  me  this  evening  on 
the  near  road  to  town.  If  I  once  see  the  road  I  shall  know  it 
hereafter.  I  want  to  walk  out  here  after  dark  and  return  early 
in  the  morning.  I  want  to  happen  to  visit  you  ladies  and  Herbert 
for  two  or  three  evenings  consecutively.  I  will  bring  my  violin 
and  some  music,  and  if  I  am  so  forgetful  as  to  remain  until  late 
you  will  offer  me  the  hospitality  of  Harwood.  Is  it  agreed  F  She 
bowed  her  head.  "  Well,  now  about  the  lead-covered  box.  I  be- 
lieve it  is  buried  in  the  Laurel  Grove,  and  I  believe  Denham 
thinks  so,  too.  I  have  been  jumping  at  conclusions  female  fashion 
lately " 

"  Female  fashion!  what  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"  I  mean,  by  the  exercise  of  that  rare  faculty  of  intuition  by 
which  women  arrive  at  facts  without  the  trouble  of  logical  deduc- 
tion. You  need  not  frown,"  I  continued,  laughing,  "  it  is  a  much 
higher  faculty  than  any  possessed  by  men.  Do  not  suppose,  I 
implore  you,  that  I  am  so  base  as  to  think  or  speak  slightingly  of 
women.  I  have  a  Mother  and  two  sisters." 

"  Yes  5  I  know  you  have,"  she  answered,  composedly. 

"  Indeed !  and  where  did  you  get  the  information  ?" 

"From  various  sources.  From  Mr.  Hamilton,  after  you  went 
away,  and  from  yourself  before  that,  and  from  other  testimony 
since  you  returned." 

A  light  suddenly  dawned  upon  me.  What  a  blind  ninny  I  have 
been ! 

"Oh,  Bet,"  I  said,  "do  you  indeed  know  that  I  am  your 
cousin  F 

"  How  could  you  doubt  it,  cousin  Herbert !  how  could  you  other- 
wise account  for  my  behaviour !  Do  you  think  Mr.  Hubbard,  with 
all  his  fascinations,  could  have  arrived  at  the  present  stage  of  in- 
timacy with  my  Father's  daughter !" 

I  suppose  I  looked  as  bewildered  as  I  felt,  for  she  threw  herself 
back  in  her  chair  and  laughed  heartily. 


RECOGNITION.  165 

"  When  you  have  done  laughing/7 1  said  pettishly,  "  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  I  am  sober  again,  cousin,"  she  answered,  wiping  her  eyes ; 
"  but  you  looked  so  comical  just  now  that  I  could  not  help  it,"  and 
here  she  went  off  again. 

"  I  suppose  you  and  Carr  have  amused  yourselves  enormously 
at  my  expense,"  said  I,  beginning  to  get  in  a  rage. 

"  Come,  sir,  that  is  unkind  and  impolite,"  she  replied,  gravely  5 
"no  one  knows  your  secret.  I  don't  know  why  you  changed 
your  name,  but  I  have  never  felt  at  liberty  to  tell  even  Herbert. 
I  don't  know  when  I  first  began  to  suspect  you,  but  you  sealed  the 
packet  of  letters  when  you  returned  them  the  first  time  with  that 
seal  on  your  watch  chain,  I  suppose.  Let  me  see  it.  Yes !  it  is 
the  Harwood  arms  and  motto,  *  Che  sard  sard.7  I  thought  you 
were  Barnard's  son,  and  I  have  had  many  a  good,  quiet  cry  since 
you  went  away,  thinking  over  those  fatal  letters." 

"  Please  keep  the  secret  a  little  longer,  dear  cousin.  I  want  to 
circumvent  Mr.  Denham,  and  I  am  stronger  while  he  is  ignorant 
of  my  true  name.  But  I  did  not  change  my  name,"  and  I  told  her 
all  the  story,  just  as  it  occurred. 

"  Tou  are  remarkably  bashful,  indeed,  sir,"  said  Eet,  when  I 
had  concluded  5  "  but  I  can  understand  how  you  allowed  the  mis- 
take to  pass  at  first  and  how  the  peculiarity  of  the  position  em- 
barrassed you  with  each  addition  to  the  number  of  acquaintances. 
Pray,  how  do  you  intend  to  enlighten  everybody  when  you  resume 
your  own  more  euphonious  name  F 

"  I  don't  intend  to  trouble  myself  about  that,"  I  answered  in- 
differently 5  u  so  that  my  Mends  understand  the  case  I  care  no- 
thing about  voxpopuli." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  cousin,  I  think  this  is  a  defect 
in  your  character.  I  have  seen  it  manifested  more  than  once. 
You  owe  it  to  yourself  and  to  society  to  maintain  a  spotless  repu- 
tation in  all  things.  I  do  not  mean  that  public  opinion  should 
have  the  slightest  influence  upon  you  where  any  principle  may  be 
involved,  but  you  are  bound  to  see  that  your  influence  over  men 
is  not  damaged  by  your  indifference.  Your  influence  is  a  talent 
for  which  you  are  responsible  to  God,  who  gave  it." 

"  If  I  had  you  for  my  mentor,  dear  cousin,"  I  answered  sadly, 
"  my  life  might  be  made  to  accord  with  the  perfect  law — so  far  as 
poor  humanity  can  attain  to  perfection." 

"  You  have  been  blessed  with  a  far  better  mentor,"  she  said, 


166  HARWOOD. 

blushing  a  little ;  "  here  is  your  Mother's  letter.    You  may  read  it 
now.'7    As  the  letter  is  not  long  I  will  copy  it  here ; 

BALTIMORE,  July  12, 1836. 

My  dear  Cousin : — Herbert's  intelligence  of  his  new  found  kin- 
dred in  Louisiana  has  filled  ine  with  gratitude  to  God  for  His  good- 
ness, and  wonder  and  adoration  for  His  special  providence.  All 
that  I  know  of  you,  my  dear,  I  know  from  reading  my  son's  jour- 
nal, and  as  I  know  that  he  has  written  nothing  but  the  truth,  I 
have  learned  to  love  you  though  I  have  not  seen  you.  I  have  left 
him  to  select  his  own  time  to  reveal  himself,  under  the  name  he 
bears,  to  every  one  in  that  far-off  country  who  has  been  deceived 
by  his  careless  indifference.  He  thinks  you  have  not  penetrated 
his  secret,  but  I  can  see  that  you  know  him.  As  I  am  well  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  circumstances  attending  the  early  life  of  my 
dear  husband,  I  know  that  the  children  of  his  cousin  John  would 
have  been  peculiarly  dear  to  him  if  he  had  lived  to  see  them.  And 
I  can  also  understand  how  easily  you  were  led  into  the  supposi- 
tion that  I  and  my  children  were  the  family  of  Barnard  Harwood. 
If  we  had  heard  of  your  existence  in  the  same  way  we  should  have 
arrived  at  the  same  conclusion  concerning  you.  I  feel  that  I  shall 
see  you  some  day  and  will  love  you  the  more — the  more  I  know 
you.  Herbert  does  not  know  what  I  have  written.  He  has  not 
asked  to  see  this  letter.  Write  to  me,  my  dear  child,  and  believe 
rue  Your  loving  cousin,  ALICE  HA.RWOOD. 

11  And  now,  sir,"  said  Ret,  imperatively,  as  I  gave  her  back  the 
letter,  "  I  want  to  see  your  journal,  if  you  please." 

"  Not  for  a  million  worlds !"  I  exclaimed,  starting  up  in  horror. 

"  I  desire  to  know,  sir,"  continued  she,  without  noticing  my 
exclamation,  "  what  you  have  written  about  we." 

4  i  That  is  precisely  what  you  must  not  know,"  I  replied.  "  Mother 
is  a  wonderfully  wise  woman,  but  she  don't  know  everything?  She 
was  silenced.  No  doubt  she  conjectured  some  part  of  the  truth. 
I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  believe  she  would  discuss  the  matter  of 
my  loving  her  with  every  drop  of  my  blood,  with  every  breath  I 
draw,  and  with  every  impulse  of  my  life,  in  as  cool  and  business- 
like a  manner  as  possible.  She  would  demonstrate  the  folly  of 
my  passion,  and  show  me  how  the  straight  path  of  duty  must  be 
pursued  through  a  life  of  self-denial  and  usefulness.  It  is  all  true, 
but  these  reflections  do  not  restore  to  my  heart  its  former  vigorous 
and  cheerful  pulses. 


RECOGNITION.  167 

I  came  away  just  as  Carr  and  his  companions  returned.  Herbert 
came  all  the  way  to  town  with  me,  and  took  my  violin  and  music 
out  with  him.  I  have  promised  him  to  walk  out  to-night  after 
mail  duties  are  over. 

HAEWOOD. — MIDNIGHT. 

When  I  had  finished  with  the  mail,  I  walked  over  to  the  hotel 
and  went  into  the  playing  room.  Judge  Carr  was  there,  playing 
euchre  with  Captain  Delaney.  I  was  seated  at  one  of  the  tables 
near  them,  and  overheard  Delaney  say  "  game !"  Mr.  Carr  looked 
anxious  aud  excited.  They  whispered  a  while,  and  then  Delaney 
said,  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear,  as  he  was  shuffling  the  cards, 
"  the  whole  debt  now  against  the  mortgage.  Cut  I"  I  walked  over 
to  their  table  and  held  out  my  hand  to  Mr.  Carr,  as  I  had  not  seen 
him  before  since  my  return.  He  shook  hands  with  me  and  was 
very  affable. 

"  Will  you  please  let  me  say  a  few  words  to  you,  sir/'  I  said.  "  I 
must  get  some  information  from  you  before  the  mail  closes." 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  I  led  the  way  out  of  the  room.  He 
followed  down  stairs  and  stopped  when  I  reached  the  street. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Hubbard  f"  he  said. 

"  Only  to  the  post-office,  sir.  Please  walk  down  there  with  me. 
I  will  not  detain  you  long." 

I  let  myself  into  the  office,  and  then  went  through  the  door  into 
the  store-room,  and  admitted  him.  I  lighted  a  candle,  and  we  sat 
down  for  a  talk. 

"  I  bought  the  Copper  stock  for  you,  sir." 

"  Good  Heavens !    Did  you  not  receive  my  letter  P 

"  No,  sir.  I  got  no  letter  from  you.  Mr.  Callahan  did  not  know 
your  Christian  name,  and  he  has  filled  up  the  certificate  in  my 
name.  There  is  a  torin  of  transfer  on  the  back,  and  I  will  fill  it  up 
at  once,  if  you  will  tell  me  your  initials. 

"  I  am  not  able  to  pay  for  this  stock,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Carr,  in  great 
excitement.  "I  wrote  to  you  immediately  after  you  left,  directing 
my  letter  to  the  Hudson  Hotel,  as  you  told  me.  I  have  drawn  all 
the  money  my  crop  will  bring,  and  more  too." 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence,  my  dear  sir.  I  paid  for 
the  stock  with  my  own  money,  and  you  can  repay  me  whenever  it 
suits  your  convenience.  The  stock  is  enormously  valuable,  and 
you  can  sell  it  to-day  at  twenty  times  its  cost." 

"  If  this  is  true,  Mr.  Hubbard,"  replied  he,  absently,  "  why  should 
you  not  take  the  stock  yourself  F 


168  HAEWOOD. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  it,  Mr.  Carr  5  but,  of  course,  I  shall 
do  no  such  thing.  I  do  not  need  the  money,  and  if  you  don't  wish 
to  retain  this  stock,  I  will  order  Mr.  Callahan  to  sell  it  at  once  for 
your  account.  You  will  receive  enough  to  replace  the  value  of 
your  crop  for  this  year  at  least." 

"  Please  let  the  matter  stand,  then,  as  it  is,"  he  said,  rising ;  "  I 
will  see  you  again  to-morrow.  I  must  go  back  to  Delaney.  He 
will  be  impatient." 

"  Mr.  Carr."  He  stopped.  "  I  did  not  bring  you  here,  sir,  merely 
to  talk  about  the  stock.  I  implore  you  to  get  your  horse,  and  go 
home  without  seeing  Delaney  again.  I  know  that  he  is  a  great 
scoundrel,  and  I  know  that  he  is  cheating  you." 

"  By  what  right  and  upon  what  evidence  do  you  dare  to  say  so  ?" 
said  Mr.  Carr  in  astonishment.  "Do  you  know  that  your  life 
would  not  be  worth  an  hour's  purchase  if  I  repeated  to  Delaney 
what  you  have  just  said  P 

"  1  will  save  you  the  trouble  of  repeating  it,  sir,"  I  answered 
coolly  5  "  if  you  go  back  to  the  playing  room  I  shall  go  with  you, 
and  say  it  to  Delaney  myself." 

"  Are  you  mad,  Mr.  Hubbard  ?  Delaney  would  shoot  you  with 
as  little  compunction  as " 

"  I  do  not  fear  to  incur  the  risk,  sir.  I  happen  to  know  some 
portion  of  his  former  history,  and  I  know  he  is  a  villain.  If  you 
wish  to  hear  what  evidence  I  have  of  his  present  rascality,  I  will 
tell  you  that  I  saw  his  handkerchief  spread  over  his  knees  just  now, 
and  saw  the  knaves  of  hearts  and  diamonds  lying  upon  it.  He 
intends  to  play  them  at  the  proper  moment,  and  get  possession 
of  the  mortgage."  He  started  as  I  said  this,  and  I  went  on.  "  If 
you  will  get  your  horse  and  go  ho  me- it  will  be  the  best  course.  I 
will  walk  with  you  as  far  as  Harwood.  If  you  decide  to  go  back 
and  lose  the  mortgage,  and  thus  leave  Charley  penniless — for  I 
know  how  much  you  are  involved — I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  pre- 
vent it,  by  charging  Delaney  with  his  thieving  before  all  the  people 
in  the  room.  If  I  cannot  otherwise  prevail  upon  you  to  quit  play- 
ing with  him,  at  once  and  forever,  I  will  try  this  last  step.  In 
honour  you  do  not*  owe  him  one  cent,  so  your  debt  to  him  is  nothing. 
Be  persuaded,  sir,  to  go  with  me  to-night,  and  think  over  the  mat- 
ter. You  can  ruin  yourself  as  well  to-morrow." 

He  was  vanquished.  We  went  back  together  to  the  hotel,  and 
looking  into  the  playing  room  we  saw  Delaney  engaged  in  a  four- 
hand  game. 


RECOGNITION.  169 

"  You  must  excuse  me  to-night,  Delaney,"  said  the  Judge,  u  I 
have  to  go  home  at  once." 

Delaney  nodded  to  him,  glanced  darkly  at  me  for  an  instant,  and 
we  left.  I  walked  beside  Mr.  Carr's  horse  as  far  as  this  house,  and 
when  we  parted  he  grasped  my  hand  with  great  fervor. 

"  You  have  awakened  me,  my  young  friend,  to  a  sense  of  duty  to 
myself  and  my  son."  Here  he  held  up  his  right  hand  and  contin- 
ued solemnly :  "  I  swear,  before  God,  that  I  will  never  gamble 
again."  After  a  little  pause  he  went  on.  "  I  have  also  decided 
finally  about  the  Lake  Shore  stock.  Unless  you  lose  by  your  kind- 
ness in  attending  to  this  business  for  me,  I  shall  never  take  the 
stock.  It  is  yours  to  sell  or  retain,  as  you  please." 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  do  not  believe  what  I  tell  you.  The  stock 
is  worth  ten  or  twelve  thousand  dollars." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you.  I  have  thought  over  the  matter, 
and  shall  not  change  my  determination.  It  is  yours.  Good  night, 
and  God  bless  you." 

He  thinks  he  has  settled  the  matter,  but  I  also  have  decided.  I 
shall  sell  the  stock,  take  out  my  five  hundred  dollars,  and  give  the 
balance  to  Charley. 

We  had  a  lively  time  in  the  drawing  room.  Lucille,  who  is  a 
darling  little  woman,  played  accompaniments  for  me.  After  play- 
ing an  hour  she  called  Eet  to  take  her  place,  and  she  and  Carr 
walked  out  on  the  verandah.  I  have  a  composition  called  "Echoes 
from  the  Mountains,"  which  is  more  of  a  duett  than  any  of  my 
other  pieces.  Lucille  refused  to  attempt  it  without  preliminary 
practice,  and  Bet  asked  for  it  at  once.  I  set  the  piano  part  up 
before  her,  and  she  played  it  without  hesitation.  She  seemed  to 
catch  the  ideas  of  the  composer,  and  we  went  through  it  delight- 
fully. Herbert  looked  on  with  astonished  eyes,  as  I  went  through 
the  gymnastical  part  of  the  performance,  playing  high  up  on  the 
finger  board,  and  dealing  largely  in  harmonics.  The  listeners  made 
us  repeat  the  performance,  and  were  loud  in  their  applause.  Eet 
plays  wonderfully.  Oh,  how  sweet  would  have  been  my  life  if  I 
had  been  permitted  to  win  her  for  my  life's  companion !  It  was  quite 
late  when  Carr  left,  and  Herbert  brought  me  up  here  to  "my  room," 
as  he  calls  it.  "  It  is  your  room  always,  cousin  Harry  ;  nobody 
else  shall  ever  sleep  in  it.  Eet  says  so." 

Since  he  left  me  the  house  has  become  quiet,  and  I  have  been 
sitting  here  writing  ever  so  long.  It  is  time  I  was  seeking  "tired 
nature's  sweet w 


HO  HABWOOD. 


CHAPTEE   XXII. 

THE  CRISIS. 
HARWOOD,  SATURDAY  NIGHT,  August  7, 1836. 

I  WAS  interrupted  last  night.  There  was  a  tap  at  my  door, 
and  when  I  opened  it  there  stood  Eet  and  Herbert  in  the  hall. 

"  Somebody  is  trying  to  get  into  my  room,  cousin,"  said  Eet.  I 
knew  you  had  not  retired,  as  I  saw  your  light  and  heard  your  pen 
going."  She  spoke  with  perfect  composure,  while  Herbert,  who  had 
his  gun,  was  full  of  excitement. 

"Where  is  your  room?"  said  I. 

"  Here  across  the  hall.  The  window  opens  on  the  verandah 
roof.  Some  one  is  on  the  roof  cutting  the  shutter." 

"  Is  there  a  light  in  your  rooml" 

"No." 

"  Cousin  Harry,"  said  Herbert  in  a  whisper,  "let  me  go  down  on 
the  lawn  while  you  go  to  Eet's  window.  Maybe  I'll  get  a  pop  at 
him  when  he  tries  to  get  off." 

I  stepped  softly  into  the  room  and  listened.  I  heard  the  knife 
cutting  into  the  shutter  in  the  thin  part  of  the  panel.  Herbert 
had  gone  down  stairs.  I  had  my  sword  cane  but  no  firearms.  I 
put  out  my  hand  to  open  the  shutter,  when  some  one  touched  me. 
It  was  Eet.  / 

"  Do  not  incur  any  needless  risk  by  your  rashness,  cousin,"  she 
said  with  a  tremulous  voice.  Before  I  could  answer  some  one  on 
the  lawn  said,  in  a  loud  whisper, 

"Come  down!  They  are  awake !"  and  I  heard  Herbert's  gun 
go  off  with  a  bang.  I  dashed  the  shutter  open  and  caught  a  man 
by  the  collar  as  he  was  retreating  from  the  window.  His  face  was 
covered  with  black  crape.  He  had  a  large  knife  in  his  hand, 
which  he  dropped  in  the  short  struggle.  In  a  moment  I  was 
thrust  back  into  the  room  and  the  robber  gained  the  edge  of  the 
roof.  He  seemed  to  hesitate  about  leaping  down,  and  while  he 
paused  I  slipped  througy  the  window,  sword  in  hand.  Before  I 
reached  him  he  leaped,  and  I  heard  Herbert's  second  barrel.  I  took 
the  sword  blade  in  my  mouth,  and  feeling  for  the  spout  with  my 
hand,  I  let  myself  down  from  the  roof,  and  was  on  the  lawn  in  an 
instant.  But  it  was  dark  as  a  wolf's  throat,  and  nothing  was 
visible.  Presently  I  heard  voices  in  subdued  whispers  at  a  little 


THE  CRISIS.  HI 

distance,  and  calling  out  to  Herbert  to  follow,  I  ran  toward  the 
sound.  There  was  a  momentary  shuffling  of  feet,  and  then  I  heard 
the  hoof  strokes  of  horses  as  the  marauders  galloped  off.  Ret 
and  Herbert  were  on  the  verandah  when  I  went  back. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?"  said  the  former,  anxiously. 

"  Not  a  bit  5  but  the  rascals  are  off.  What  did  you  shoot  at, 
Herbert  V J 

"  At  a  man  on  the  lawn.  I  heard  him  whispering,  though  I 
could  not  see  him.  I  hit  him  though,  for  I  heard  him  swear  when 
I  fired." 

"  And  your  second  shot  ?" 

"  Was  at  a  fellow  who  tumbled  off  the  roof.  I  missed  him,  I 
know." 

"  Well,  we  may  all  sleep  in  safety  now.  They  will  not  be  back 
to-night,"  said  I,  as  we  reentered  the  house.  "  Cousin  Eet,  where 
will  you  sleep  P 

"  In  my  own  room,"  she  replied. 

"  If  you  would  feel  safer,  Herbert  and  I  will  sit  up  and  play 
chess  all  night." 

"  No,  you  shall  not ;  I  am  not  afraid.  You  may  come  and  see 
how  much  damage  is  done  to  my  shutter." 

There  was  not  much  harm  done ;  the  fellow  had  marked  out  a 
square  place  in  the  panel  just  over  the  bolt,  and  had  chipped 
away  a  little  of  the  wood.  If  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  the 
piece  out,  he  could  have  put  his  fingers  in  through  the  hole,  and 
drawn  the  bolt  back.  As  we  refastened  the  shutter  I  saw  her 
black  key  box  on  the  table  near  the  window. 

"  Ah,  here  was  the  attraction !"  I  said.  "  Do  you  keep-t^ie  box 
here  usually  ?" 

"  Always." 

"  Good  night  then,  Cousin  Eet  5  do  not  hesitate  to  call  me  if 
you  are  alarmed  again ;  but  you  will  not  be  disturbed  again  to- 
night." 

"  My  debt  to  you  is  getting  larger,"  she  said,  as  I  left  the  room. 

"  Pshaw !  Go  to  sleep  and  forget  it,  then  f  and  so  I  left  her. 
Herbert  declared  he  would  stay  ;  but  she  sent  him  out  after  me. 
He  reloaded  his., gun,  and  slipping  back  into  bed,  vowed  he  would 
"  keep  awake  any  how."  I  told  him  I  would  read  awhile  then,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  was  sound  asleep.  I  put  out  his  candle  and 
came  back  here  to  "  my  "  room. 

We  agreed  this  morning  that  we  would  say  nothing  about  the 


172  HARWOOD. 

night  alarm,  Lucille  had  not  been  awakened,  and  the  servants 
did  not  appear  to  have  heard  the  shots.  Eet  sent  Herbert  to  see 
if  Mr.  Becket  was  on  the  plantation ;  but  he  came  back  with  the 
information  that  he  had  ridden  to  town  the  evening  before  and 
had  not  returned.  He  is  to  leave  on  Monday.  He  says  he  is 
going  to  Florida  to  take  charge  of  a  plantation  there.  I  asked 
Eet  this  morning,  as  she  and  I  promenaded  the  verandah  before 
breakfast,  if  Becket  could  possibly  know  where  she  kept  her  keys. 
She  said  he  doubtless  did,  as  she  had  sent  Phany  or  Chloe  for  the 
box  several  times  when  he  was  at  the  house.  He  also  knew  that 
the  box  contained  the  key  of  the  iron  closet,  as  he  had  seen  her 
open  it  recently,  when  she  was  settling  his  account. 

"  I  have  concluded,"  said  I,  still  reasoning  female  fashion,  "  that 
the  robbers  last  night  were  Becket  and  Denham.  I  saw  them 
together  in  the  gambling  room  at  the  hotel." 

"  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  spending  your  leisure  tune  in  that 
intellectual  amusement  P 

"  I  ?    I  never  gamble,  Cousin." 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  the  room  last  night  ?" 

"  I  went  there  after  Mr. a  gentleman  I  wished  to  see." 

"  Was  it  Uncle  ?  I  won't  insist  upon  an  answer,"  she  said,  as 
I  was  silent ;  "  but  I  am  sure  it  was  he." 

"  It  was ;  but  he  will  go  there  no  more.  He  solemnly  promised, 
when  he  left  me  last  night — here  at  your  gate — that  he  would 
never  gamble  again." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it — every  word !"  and  she  stamped  her  foot 
impatiently. 

u  Come  sit  down  here  then,  you  tyrant.  I  pity  your  fdture  hus- 
band." She  looked  at  me  with  an  indescribable  expression,  and 
I  told  her  all  about  it. 

"  Please  don't  say  anything  to  Charley.  I  would  not  have  told 
you,  or  any  one  else,  if  I  could  help  it.  I  ought  not  to  tell  you,  as 
it  is  none  of  my  business." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  stock  T  she  asked.  "  I 
won't  tell  anybody  anything  you  tell  me." 

"  I  have  no  stock.  If  you  mean  this  Lake  Shore  mine,  I  am 
going  to  send  it  to  the  broker  to  sell,  and  I  am  going  to  give  the 
proceeds  to  Charley." 

"  Let  us  go  in  to  breakfast,"  she  said,  rising. 

We  played  "  Echoes  "  once  or  twice  afterwards,  and  then  I  took 
my  cane  and  walked  down  to  the  Laurels. 


THE  CRISIS.  173 

I  crossed  the  creek  dry  shod,  at  a  narrow  place  half  a  mile 
above  the  ford,  where  there  was  a  large  tree  fallen  across  the 
water.  I  then  walked  down  the  Manahio  road  to  the  haunted 
grove.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock,  and  the  morning  was  lovely.  I 
had  walked  briskly,  and  had  got  pretty  warm  ;  so  I  took  off  my 
gloves,  coat  and  vest.  When  I  reached  the  Laurels,  and  pushed 
my  way  through  the  bushes,  I  saw  a  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with 
a  spade  in  his  hand,  kneeling  over  the  spot  I  had  selected  as  the 
probable  locality  of  the  lead-covered  box.  He  had  a  tape  measure  in 
his  hand,  and  was  ascertaining  the  distance  from  that  spot  to  the 
near  tree.  It  was  Captain  Delaney. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  sneaking  about  here  for,  sir  P  he  said 
fiercely,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  Begone  while  your  skin  is  whole !" 

This  temperate  and  soothing  salutation  had  the  natural  effect 
upon  me.  I  kept  down  my  rising  passion,  but  I  felt  in  every  bone 
of  my  body  that  the  hour  had  come  for  my  struggle  with  that 
rascal. 

"  You  forget  yourself  very  strangely,  sir!"  replied  I,  haughtily. 
"  As  I  have  not  the  honour  of  your  acquaintance,  I  should  like  to 
know  by  what  right  you  address  me  at  all." 

"It  is  just  possible,"  he  said,  after  looking  steadily  into  my 
eyes,  and  finding  that  I  returned  his  stare  without  flinching — "  it 
is  barely  possible  that  you  may  have  brains  enough  to  take  your 
slim  body  away  from  this  neighbourhood  before  I  knock  them  out 
of  your  head." 

"And  it  is  also  barely  possible  that  you  may  find  out  that  I  am 
not  to  be  scared  by  the  mouthing  of  so  poor  a  bully  as  you  are. 
There  is  nothing  very  terrific  to  me  about  Captain  Delaney  or  Mr. 
Mark  Denham." 

He  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the  spade,  and  then  took  a  step 
toward  me.  I  dropped  my  coat  and  vest,  and  drew  the  sword 
from  my  cane. 

"  So !"  he  said,  pausing,  "  you  would  prefer  a  hole  in  your  lank 
body,  instead  of  a  crack  on  the  crown  ?  I  give  you  one  more 
chance,  if  only  because  you  have  had  pluck  enough  to  brave  me 
thus  far.  Will  you  apologise  for  your  insolence — and  go,  and  be 
d d  to  you  r 

"  It  does  not  require  any  particular  amount  of  pluck  to  brave  a 
gentleman  of  your  calibre,  Mr.  Denham.  I  have  no  apologies  to 
make,  and  I  am  not  going  away  until  I  get  a  certain  lead-covered 
box  for  which  you  are  searching." 


174  HARWOOD. 

He  threw  the  spade  into  the  bushes,  gathered  up  the  tape-line, 
and  took  his  cane,  which  was  leaning  against  the  tree.  It  was 
precisely  like  my  own.  He  drew  the  blade  out  and  threw  the 
scabbard  down  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  with  the  tape-line.  He 
then  saluted  gracefully,  and,  advancing  a  step,  crossed  his  blade 
with  mine.  While  we  fenced,  he  talked : 

"  It  is  almost  a  pity  to  put  so  promising  a  youth  out  of  his  mis- 
ery," he  said ;  "  but  your  knowledge  is  so  extensive,  that  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  society  for  you  to  be  at  large  any  longer." 

All  this  time  he  was  trying  my  skill,  changing  his  parades  with 
great  celerity,  and  keeping  me  tolerably  busy  in  parrying  his 
thrusts.  Captain  Joli's  "  principles "  stood  me  in  stead  rarely 
to-day. 

"  I  thought  the  same  of  you  last  night,  sir,  when  I  spoiled  your 
little  adventure  at  Harwood f  he  winced  a  little,  but  kept  on  fight- 
ing; "  and  I  intend  to  see  that  you  are  not  allowed  to  cheat  poor 
old  men  out  of  their  inheritance,  or  to  rob  defenceless  women, 
hereafter.  Your  role  in  this  locality  is  about  over,  sir."  I  was 
trying  to  get  him  into  a  passion,  but  he  was  cool  as  ice. 

"  You  might  have  got  off  with  the  loss  of  your  ears,"  he  replied, 
"  if  you  had  not  made  that  last  remark.  I  am  surprised  to  find 
that  you  should  be  bold  enough  to  aim  so  high  in  your  regards  as 
to  the  lovely  Miss  Harwood.  Her  estimate  of  you  is  probably 
much  lower  than  you  suppose." 

"  I  also  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  journey  to  Baltimore 
of  no  avail ;  as  I  revealed  the  secret  of  your  identity  with  the 
charming  Captain  Delaney,  and  also  with  the  correspondent  of 
your  friends,  who  took  leave  of  society  about  this  locality  five  years 
ago."  He  sprang  back  a  step  or  two,  and  stood  gazing  at  me  with 
an  astonishment  which  he  did  not  try  to  conceal.  I  watched  him 
narrowly,  expecting  him  to  dart  suddenly  upon  me.  "  I  am  not 
fighting  a  duel  with  you,  Mr.  Denhani.  If  you  will  go  quietly 
away,  and  leave  Carrville  never  to  return,  I  will  not  interfere  with 
you.  I  know  you  to  be  a  great  scoundrel,  and  I  can  satisfy  any- 
body that  knows  you,  that  you  are  not  entitled  to  the  name  of 
gentleman ;  but  if  you  will  go,  I  will  be  silent  on  the  subject,  and 
leave  you  in  the  hands  of  God." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you?"  he  said  at  length. 

<•  No  matter.  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  I  will  keep  my  word. 
Will  you  go  F 

"  Not  until  I  kill  you.    No  man  ever  braved  me  thus  and  lived ! 


THE  CRISIS.  115 

You  will  be  dead  in  five  minutes  P  and  lie  advanced  again  to  the 
centre  of  the  area  and  assaulted  me. 

As  I  look  back  upon  that  final  encounter  I  remember  that  I 
thought  the  man's  muscles  must  be  made  of  steel.  He  evidently 
meant  to  kill  me,  and  I  was  beginning  to  think  I  would  have  to 
kill  him  to  save  my -own  life.  I  had  depended  upon  cowing  him 
by  the  revelations  I  made,  but  I  had  calculated  upon  encounter- 
ing a  man  of  different  metal.  I  could  feel  the  vigour  of  his  strong 
arm  at  the  very  point  of  his  weapon,  and  once  or  twice  his  sword 
glanced  past  my  throat  almost  grazing  it.  He  did  not  strike  at 
my  body  at  all.  The  advantage  with  me  was  solely  in  that  I  was 
defending  myself — not  attacking  him.  But  I  soon  found  that  he 
calculated  upon  this  forbearance  and  pressed  me  more  fiercely. 
He  had  not  touched  me,  when  I  took  advantage  of  an  opening, 
and  slipped  my  blade  into  the  fleshy  part  of  his  arm,  just  above 
the  elbow.  I  saw  the  shirt  sleeve  become  crimson  in  a  moment, 
but  he  only  ground  his  teeth  and  fought  with  a  little  more  caution. 
I  was  cooler  than  I  am  now  while  I  write  about  it.  Neither  of  us 
uttered  a  word,  and  there  was  no  sound  except  the  stamp  of  our 
feet  as  we  traversed  the  little  area,  and  the  continued  rasping  of 
steel  against  steel.  I  think  we  fought  full  fifteen  minutes  in  this 
way.  At  last  he  struck  at  my  breast  with  a  fierce  lunge  en  tierce, 
and,  as  he  recovered,  I  thrust  my  sword  through  his  wrist.  I  saw 
the  point  as  it  came  out  through  his  arm,  and  he  dropped  his 
weapon  as  I  withdrew  my  own.  In  another  moment  he  was  upon 
me — my  sword  again  passing  through  his  shoulder — and  gripping 
my  throat  with  his  left  hand,  he  bore  me  to  the  ground,  and 
knelt  upon  my  body.  I  was  virtually  disarmed,  as  my  blade  was 
still  in  his  shoulder,  and  I  saw  him  feeling  in  his  bosom  for  the 
knife,  which  he  at  last  drew  out  with  his  wounded  hand.  I  men- 
tally offered  a  brief  prayer — for  I  thought  my  hour  had  come — 
when  I  heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  and  my  enemy  rolled  over  on 
the  grass. 

I  thought  he  was  dead,  as  I  sat  there  beside  his  body,  trying 
to  get  back  the  breath  he  had  nearly  choked  out  of  mine,  but  a 
convulsive  twitching  of  his  limbs  showed  me  that  ho  still 
lived.  I  then  kneeled  over  him,  and  saw  that  the  bullet  had  en- 
tered hio  right  breast.  There  was  not  much  blood  issuing  from 
the  wound,  though  his  right  sleeve  was  red  from  the  shoulder  to 
the  wrist.  While  I  stood  irresolute,  trying  to  decide  what  ought  to 
be  done,  I  heard  a  horse  splashing  through  the  water  at  the 


176  HARWOOD. 

ford.  I  ran  out  of  the  grove  and  met  Doctor  Markham  as  he 
rode  np  the  bank. 

"  Oh,  doctor !  God  must  have  sent  you  here  P  I  exclaimed. 
"  Come  quickly !  there  is  a  man  dying  here  in  the  grove  !" 

"  The  deuce  !"  answered  the  doctor,  u  and  what  may  be  the 
nature  of  his  disease,  Burton  F 

"  Oh,  come,  doctor !  he  will  bleed  to  death  !" 

"  Bleed  !"  and  the  doctor  dismounted  and  followed  me — "  why 
didn't  you  say  he  was  hurt  ?  Hitch  my  horse,  please.  Why  it's 
Delaney,  by  all  the  gods !" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  I  am  afraid  he  is  killed."  The  doctor  opened 
his  shirt  bosom  and  looked  at  the  wound ;  then  he  told  me  to  get 
his  saddle  bags.  When  I  got  them  he  opened  one  end  and  took 
out  a  case  of  cruel  looking  instruments,  and,  selecting  a  probe,  he 
passed  it  carefully  into  the  wound.  Delaney  groaned. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  won't  groan  very  long,"  said  the  doctor,  rising. 
"  Burton,  we  must  get  him  to  some  house.  It  is  too  far  to  town. 
I  wonder  if  we  might  take  him  to  Harwood  V9 

"  Is  it  too  far  to  Maltby's  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  doctor,  decidedly.  "  His  only  chance  is 
to  get  him  to  some  place  with  as  little  motion  as  possible.  Jump 
on  my  horse  and  ride  over  to  Harwood,  and  ask  Eet  if  I  may  take 
him  there ;  and  if  yes,  bring  four  niggers  back  with  you,  with  a 
door  and  a  pillow." 

"A  door F 

"  Yes  5  take  some  door  off  its  hinges  to  carry  him  on.  Have 
you  lost  what  little  sense  you  used  to  have?  Be  off  I" 

I  picked  up  my  sword,  wiped  the  blade  on  the  grass,  and  re- 
placed it  in  the  scabbard,  and  unfastening  the  doctor's  horse,  I 
galloped  back  to  Harwood.  When  I  arrived  I  rode  up  to  the 
verandah  and  called  Herbert  out  of  the  parlor. 

"  Send  your  sister  here,  dear  Herbert.  I  want  to  see  her  alone, 
just  a  moment."  She  heard  me,  and  came  out  as  her  brother  re- 
tired, his  eyes  dilated  somewhat  beyond  their  usual  dimensions. 

"  What  has  happened?"  she  said,  pale  and  tremulous ;  "  there 
is  blood  on  your  hands  and  face !" 

"  It  is  Denham's.  I  am  afraid  he  is  dying,  or  dead !  Some  one 
shot  him  near  The  Laurels,  and  Doctor  Markham  has  sent  me  to 
tell  you  that  his  life  depends  upon  prompt  treatment,  which  can 
be  given  no  place  but  here.  He  will  die,  Markham  says,  if  we  at- 
tempt to  carry  him  to  town  or  to  Maltby's." 


TEE  CRISIS.  177 

"  What  shall  I  say  I  Bo  you  decide  the  question/'  she  an- 
swered. 

"  He  will  die,  anyhow,  I  believe.     He  is  shot  in  the  breast." 

"  Did  you  do  it  ?"  she  asked,  coming  a  step  nearer  and  speak- 
ing in  a  lower  tone. 

"  No,  thank  God !  Yet  he  would  have  killed  me  in  another 
minute.  I  was  in  his  power,  and  his  knife  was  almost  at  my 
throat.  I  will  tell  you  hereafter.  Herbert!  Captain  Delaney  has 
been  severely  wounded  down  on  the  creek,  and  Dr.  Markham 
thinks  he  had  better  be  brought  here.  What  do  you  say  P 

"  By  all  means — hey,  Ret  $  You  know  uncle  is  his  friend.  We 
can  put  him  in  the  spare  room  on  tMs  floor." 

"  Go  back,  then,  cousin,"  said  she — "  take  some  men  with  you. 
Herbert,  brother,  go  attend  to  it.  I  will  have  the  room  prepared." 

Herbert  got  his  horse,  and  we  were  soon  on  our  way  back  to 
The  Laurels  with  four  stout  negroes,  who  bore  a  stable  door  and 
a  pillow.  When  we  arrived  we  found  Denham  was  conscious. 
The  doctor  had  bound  up  the  wounds  on  his  arm,  and  was  giving 
him  water  from  the  creek.  He  was  placed  carefully  on  the  door, 
the  pillow  under  his  head,  and  Herbert  started  with  his  negroes, 
crossing  the  creek  at  the  ford.  I  walked  beside  the  doctor's 
horse  as  we  followed  them. 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  me  what  your  share  of  this  business  is  F 
asked  the  doctor.  "  What  did  your  bloody  sword  mean,  and  who 
has  been  making  the  holes  in  Delaney's  arm,  cutting  two  arteries, 
and  doing  other  mischief?" 

"I  believe  I  gave  him  all  the  wounds  except  the  shot,  doctor," 
replied  I.  "  He  first  insulted  me  very  grossly,  and  then  assaulted 
me.  I  met  him  by  accident,  and  when  he  attacked  me  I  was 
obliged  to  defend  myself.  I  stabbed  him  in  the  arm  on  purpose,  as 
I  did  not  wish  to  kill  him." 

"  If  I  had  not  arrived  when  I  did  he  would  have  bled  to  death. 
You  severed  two  arteries,  one  of  them  a  large  one.  Who  shot 
him  !w 

"  I  don't  know.  He  had  me  down  and  was  about  to  cut  my 
throat  when  I  heard  the  shot,  and  he  tumbled  over." 

"  What  the  deuce  set  you  to  quarrelling  ?  I  thought  you  were  a 
peaceable  young  man. " 

"  So  I  am.  I  tell  you  he  swore  at  me,  and  at  last  attacked  me 
with  his  sword.  I  was  compelled  to  fight  or  run,  and " 

«  Well  P 

12 


178  HARWOOD. 

"  I  had  never  learned  to  run." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  where  the  bullet  came  from,"  said  the  doctor, 
after  we  had  gone  a  half  mile  in  silence.  "  It  is  out  of  reach — 
probably  in  the  lung.  The  man  will  die,  Burton,  I  think." 

"  The  shot  came  from  this  side  of  the  creek,  doctor.  ISo  one 
could  have  seen  us  from  any  other  quarter.  Besides,  I  remember 
that  I  was  lying  with  my  head  towards  the  stream,  and  he  was 
kneeling  on  my  breast.  My  sword  was  sticking  in  his  right 
shoulder,  and  I  could  not  draw  it  out,  pinned  as  I  was  to  the 
ground.  I  tried  to  get  it  out,  as  I  wished  to  put  it  through  his 
body,  and  I  must  have  hurt  him  horribly  in  the  effort." 

"  His  shoulder  is  very  much  lacerated,  and  the  artery  is  divided, 
I  think,"  answered  the  doctor.  "  I  could  not  decide  positively 
without  a  more  thorough  examination.  But  the  wound  in  the 
wrist  is  a  dangerous  one  also." 

"  I  had  to  give  him  that  to  get  his  sword  from  him.  He  fought 
like  a  devil,  as  he  is.  Why,  sir,  he  did  not  make  one  thrust  at 
me,  except  the  last,  that  was  not  addressed  to  my  jugular.  I  have 
been  within  half  an  inch  of  death  twenty  times  this  morning." 

"  You  are  not  to  blame,  Burton,"  said  Dr.  Markharn,  after 
musing  a  little,  u  but  here  we  are.  The  room  is  on  the  ground 
floor  you  say  F 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 
BARNARD  HARWOOD. 

WE  followed  the  negroes  with  their  unconscious  burden,  and 
they  entered  a  room  from  the  verandah.  It  is  built  in  an 
angle  of  the  side  wall  of  the  house,  and  communicates  with  the 
main  building  through  a  side  passage  which  separates  the  library 
from  the  breakfast  room.  The  doctor  directed  the  arrangement  of 
the  door,  so  that  he  could  operate  on  both  sides  of  it,  and  dismiss- 
ing the  negroes,  who  very  willingly  vanished  when  Markliam 
opened  his  surgical  case,  he  asked  Herbert  if  he  would  like  to  as- 
sist him,  while  he  looked  for  the  ball.  I  know  the  boy  is  brave  as 
a  lion,  but  with  white  lips  he  begged  to  be  excused.  The  doctor 
laughed  and  let  him  go. 

"STow,  Burton,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  coat,  and  preparing 
coolly  for  his  work  of  butchery.  "  I  know  you  are  not  afraid  to 
help  me  a  little— hey  ?" 


BARNARD  HARWOOD.  179 

"  If  you  want  me,  doctor/'  I  answered — u  my  stomach  feels  a 
little  weak,  though — what  shall  I  have  to  do  ?" 

"  Take  this  saw  and  saw  one  of  his  legs  off,"  and  he  handed  me 
the  murderous  little  instrument.  "  Come,  don't  be  an  ass  now ! 
Keflect,  that  we  are  trying  to  save  this  man's  life,  and  that  lie  will 
not  suffer  much,  as  he  is  nearly  unconscious.  I  shall  only  require 
a  few  minutes.  Take  off  your  coat,  and  then  cut  his  sleeve  open 
without  moving  his  arm.  I  want  to  get  his  shirt  off."  I  took 
one  of  the  knives  from  his  case.  "  Not  with  that,  you  whelp! 
You  are  a  beautiful  operator  to  ruin  the  edge  of  your  knives  by 
cutting  cloth  with  them  !  Take  your  penknife." 

While  I  was  cutting  away  the  shirt  from  Denham's  arm  and 
breast  the  doctor  went  on  talking.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  the  pros- 
pect very  much. 

"  I  have  been  quite  lucky  to-day,  Burton.  I  was  called  up  at 
two  o'clock  this  morning  to  pick  half  a  dozen  buckshot  out  of 
Becket's  body.  He  was  carrying  his  gun  carelessly,  like  a  fool  as 
he  is,  and  it  went  off  and  sprinkled  his  legs  beautifully.  One  shot 
was  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  the  femoral  artery.  He'll  be  laid 
up  for  a  month.  By-the-bye,  I  promised  to  ask  Herbert  to  send 
his  traps  to  him  to  the  hotel.  Please  to  remind  me  of  it." 

"  Yes,  sir.    When  did  the  accident  happen  to  Becket  f 

"  About  one  o'clock,  I  believe.  Delaney  came  after  me.  They 
were  preparing  to  go  on  a  pan  hunt,  as  they  call  it.  Have  you 
got  the  shirt  off?  Now,  help  me  to  turn  him  gently  on  his  left 
side." 

Delaney  groaned  a  little  a£  we  moved  him. 

"Now,  Burton,"  said  the  doctor,  "just  hold  him  steady.  I  am 
going  to  find  the  bullejc  somewhere  under  the  arm.  You  may  shut 
your  eyes  if  you  don't  like  to  see  a  little  cutting  done  5  but  hold 
him  still !  I  shan't  be  long." 

He  felt  along  the  back  with  his  fingers,  then  taking  a  keen  little 
knife,  he  cut  away  as  coolly  as  if  he  were  whittling  a  stick.  In  a 
minute  he  had  the  ball  in  his  hand. 

"  I  thought  I  felt  it,"  he  said.  " So!  that  part  is  done.  Now  we 
have  to  secure  the  brachial  artery,  and  then  we  can  put  him-  to 
bed."  He  took  the  bandage  off  his  shoulder,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
more  he  had  tied  the  artery.  My  sword  had  cut  it  in  two. 

"  I  tied  this  round  stone  up  in  my  handkerchief,  and  made  a 
sort  of  tourniquet  out  at  the  creek,"  observed  the  doctor.  "  He 
would  have  been  dead  in  a  few  minutes.  I  have  been  uneasy  ever 


150  •  HARWOOD. 

since,  fearing  it  would  begin  to  spout  again ;  but  he  is  safe  enough 
now.  All  we  want  is  a  stitch  or  two  " 

He  revived  a  little  as  we  laid  him  on  the  bed,  and  asked  for 
water.  I  handed  him  a  drink,  giving  it  to  him  with  a  spoon.  I 
began  to  feel  as  anxious  to  save  him  now  as  I  had  been  to  kill  him 
a  little  while  ago. 

"  Where  am  I  P  he  said. 

"  Xever  mind,"  answered  the  doctor.  "  You  are  as  well  off  as 
you  can  be.  Keep  quiet  and  we'll  try  to  get  you  well." 

He  closed  his  eyes  again,  then  opened  them  suddenly  and  looked 
at  me  earnestly  and  intently. 

"  Is  that  Allen  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  thought  I  killed  him  as  well  as 
John  !" 

"  Will  you  please  to  be  quiet  P  said  the  doctor.  "  Nobody 
wants  to  hear  about  your  killing  people,  Captain  Delauey." 

"  I'm  not  Captain  Delaney ;  I  am  Barnard  Harwood,"  said  the 
wounded  man. 

"  He's  out  of  his  head,"  said  the  doctor,  feeling  his  pulse.  "  It 
looks  bad  to  find  his  mind  wandering  in  this  way." 

a  Don't  be  a  fool,  doctor,"  said  Delaney,  quietly.  "  I  am  not 
out  of  my  head.  Let  that  youngster  stay  here  with  me  and  I'll 
be  quiet." 

The  doctor  looked  at  me,  and  I  nodded  my  head  in  acquiescence. 
I  understood  everything  now.  Markham  got  some  medicines  from 
his  saddle  bags  and  left  me,  directing  me  what  to  do  if  the  patient 
became  restless. 

"  I  am  going  to  Manahio.  Judge  Carr  is  ill,  the  boy  said.  I 
was  on  my  way  there  when  you  met  me  at  the  ford.  Delaney  need 
not  die  from  his  wounds,  with  careful  nursing,  but  I  think  he  will 
die,  notwithstanding.  It  looks  unpromising  for  him  to  be  talking 
nonsense  so  early.  He  has  no  fever.  I  suppose  he  knew  he  was 
at  Harwood,  and  has  got  to  wandering  in  his  mind." 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  wandering,  doctor.  His  real  name  is  Bar- 
nard Harwood,  no  doubt." 

All  this  was  spoken  in  whispers  on  the  verandah.  Markham 
stared  at  me,  as  though  he  suspected  me  of  some  slight  tendency 
to  insanity. 

"  I'll  tell  you  about  it  when  I  have  opportunity,  doctor.  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  that  he  is  in  his  senses.  I  arn  perfectly  certain 
that  his  name  is  Barnard  Harwood.  There  are  some  family  secrets 
that  I  have  recently  learned,  and  this  is  one  of  them." 


BARNARD  HARWOOD.  181 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  meant  by  l  killing  John/  then  ?  And 
do  you  know  what  he  meant  by  calling  you  i  Allen  V"  The  doctor 
thought  this  was  what  he  calls  "  a  stumper." 

"  Yes.  My  father's  name  was  Allen,  and  I  am  said  to  resemble 
him  in  his  young  days." 

"  And  this  man  knew  him  f  Oh,  well,  I'll  ride  over  to  Carres 
now,  and  will  return  this  way,"  and  the  doctor  rode  off. 

When  I  went  back  into  the  room  the  wounded  man  had  his 
eyes  open,  regarding  me  intently.  , 

"Come  nearer,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "You  belong  to  my  race, 
young  gentleman.  You  are  Allen's  son  F 

"I  am.  But  don't  talk  now,  cousin.  I  will  tell  you  all  you  wish, 
to  know  when  you  are  better.  I  thought  you  were  Mark  Den- 
ham.  Try  to  go  to  sleep,  and  I  will  nurse  you  as  carefully  as  I 
can.  I  won't  talk  to  you  now,"  I  added,  as  he  tried  to  speak. 
The  doctor  says  you  must  be  quiet  I  will  not  leave  you  without 
your  permission,  and  while  you  are  weak  and  helpless  you  shall 
have  all  the  kindness  I  can  show  to  my  nearest  kinsman." 

"  I  don't  want  to  die  until  I  can  tell  you  some  things  that  you 
ought  to  know,"  he  murmured. 

"  You  won't  die,  the  doctor  says,  if  you  will  only  keep  quiet  and 
calm,"  and  I  pressed  his  hand.  "  Shall  I  re.ul  to  you  F 

"  Yes,  Allen.  Let  me  call  you  Allen.  I  know  your  name  is 
Herbert." 

"  Very  well,  cousin.     Now,  what  shall  I  read  ?" 

"  Anything  you  please,"  and  he  closed  his  eyes  again. 

There  was  only  one  book  ia  the  room,  and  that  was  the  best  of 
books.  I  read  from  the  Psalms,  then  from  the  Gospels,  conclud- 
ing with  the  wonderful  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  He  was  breath- 
ing quietly,  and  I  thought  he  was  asleep.  I  looked  at  the  strong 
man,  lying  there  in  pain  and  weakness,  and  all  my  hatred  for  his 
person  and  character  gave  place  to  compassion  and  strong  inter- 
est. He  is  my  kinsman,  and  he  may  live  to  amend  his  life  ! 

I  stole  quietly  from  the  room,  and  walking  round  to  the  front 
verandah  I  found  Eet  and  Herbert  there.  I  put  my  arm  through 
Herbert's,  and  walked  with  him  near  enough  to  his  sister  for  her 
to  hear  our  conversation. 

"  Herbert,  my  cousin,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  secret,  which 
you  must  keep  a  little  while.  My  name  is  the  same  as  yours." 

"  Are  you  my  real  cousin  F  said  he,  astounded. 

le  Yes,  I  am  Herbert  Harwood,  the  son  of  your  father's  own. 
cousin  Allen !" 


182  HARWOOD. 

"  Does  Ret  know  ?  Oh,  sister,  ain't  that  jolly  I  But  Fm  not 
going  to  love  you  any  better,  because  I  can't,  you  know." 

"  Your  sister  will  tell  you  how  my  name  was  changed.  I  am 
able  to  see  now  that  it  was  a  kind  Providence  that  so  ordered  it. 
Do  you  so  regard  it,  cousin  Eet  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  case  in  which  one  is  allowed  to  see  that  one's  steps 
are  directed  by  a  higher  Power.  Many  things  have  occurred 
which,  perhaps,  would  not  have  happened  if  you  had  borne  your 
true  name  at  first.  It  is  not  probable  that  we  should  have  known 
each  other  to-day.'7 

"  I  have  undertaken  to  nurse  this  wounded  man,  and  the  doctor 
says  he  may  recover,  if  he  is  carefully  watched." 

"  I  have  sent  word  to  Mrs.  Maltby  that  Captain  Delaney  is  here, 
ill,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  think  she  will  probably  come  here  this 
afternoon." 

u  He  is  not  related  to  Mrs.  Maltby " 

"  I  know  j  but  he  has  always  been  intimate  with  the  Maltbys, 
and  he  has  no  other  friends  in  this  parish.  I  thought  I  ought  to 
send  her  word." 

"  You  were  right,  cousin."  Herbert  had  gone  into  the  house. 
I  fancy  that  he  half  expected  Miss  Lucy  Maltby  to  drive  over  here 
with  her  mamma,  and  he  went  to  change  his  dress. 

"  It  is  Barnard  Harwood,  cousin,"  I  said,  when  we  were  alone. 
"  He  recognized  me  since  the  doctor  extracted  the  ball.  He  calls 
me  Allen."  She  was  looking  at  me  with  astonishment.  "  He  has 
done  both  of  us  much  evil.  I  have  forgiven  him.  Can  you  for- 
give him  also  ?" 

"  I  had  forgiven  him,"  she  answered,  "  before  you  brought  him 
here  this  morning.  I  had  my  struggle.  Perhaps  I  have  more  to 
forgive  than  you  think  I  have." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    Did  you  hear  anything " 

"  No.  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  mean  now.  It  is  a  mere  suspicion. 
I  have  read  those  letters  over  and  over  again,  until  the  various 
writers  have  become  like  people  with  wlioin  I  have  daily  inter- 
course 5  and  I  havo  unconsciously  filled  up  the  vacancies  in  the 
story  with  motives  and  actions,  which  may,  after  all,  be  the  mere 
product  of  my  own  imagination.  I  think  Barnard  has  been  a 
wicked  man  all  his  life,  but,  for  some  reason  that  I  do  not  fully 
comprehend,  I  have  come  to  think  that  he  is,  perhaps,  not  so 
much  to  blame  as  would  appear  from  the  letters." 

(C  Allen !"  The  voice  came  from.  Barnard's  room.  I  hastened 
back  to  him.  He  was  awake. 


BARNARD  HARWOOD.  183 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  would  not  leave  me,"  he  said  crossly. 

"  I  have  only  been  on  the  gallery.     What  will  you  have  P 

"  Water.  More,  more !"  he  said,  impatiently,  as  I  gave  him  a 
drink.  "  Can't  you  devise  some  better  way  than  that  ?  I  cannot 
abide  a  spoon  !" 

"  The  doctor  says  I  must  not  lift  your  head  up.  He  will  be  back 
presently." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  I  am  ?  The  atmosphere  of  this  house 
stifles  me !"  I  did  not  answer  him.  I  thought  Jie  would  be  more 
excited  if  he  knew  he  was  at  Harwood.  "  How  did  you  escape 
me  P  he  resumed.  "  I  thought  I  cut  your  throat." 

"  Some  one  shot  you  just  in  time  to  save  me." 

"  Ha !  do  you  know  who  shot  me  ?  It  is  here  in  the  breast.  Is 
the  ball  out  P 

"  The  ball  is  out.  I  don't  know  who  shot  you.  Never  mind 
now.  Til  read  to  you  again,  shall  I  f 

"  Not  at  present.  What  did  you  read  that  old  fable  to  me  for  ? 
Do  you  think  I  am  fool  enough  to  believe  in  forgiving  fathers  or 
in  returning  prodigals  !  Fathers  don't  forgive,  boy,  nor  do  prodi- 
gals return  !" 

"  Yes  they  do,  cousin.    I  know  they  do !"  replied  I,  gently. 

"  That  is,  priests  have  told  you  so.  You  should  not  say  <  you 
know.'  One  of  Allen  Har wood's  most  prominent  weaknesses  was 
his  strict  adherence  to  the  truth.  When  he  said  1 1  know,'  you 
might  safely  swear  to  the  truth  of  his  assertion." 

<fc  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  argue  now,"  I  answered ;  "  when 
you  get  better  I  will  have  it  out  with  you.  I  hear  the  doctor's 
voice." 

The  doctor  came  in,  felt  his  pulse,  glanced  at  the  bandages,  ex- 
amined his  eyes,  and  said  he  was  "  getting  along." 

"  How  long  am  I  going  to  live,  doctor!"  asked  Barnard,  quietly. 

"Who  said  you  were  going  to  die?"  answered  the  doctor, 
roughly. 

"  I  say  so  5  I  am  not  a  girl  j  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  alarming 
me.  I  want  to  see  Maltby." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  see  anybody  for  a  few  days,  except  one 
person  to  nurse  you.  Maltby  may  do  that  if  you  will  keep  quiet. 

"  I  am  going  to  nurse  him,  doctor.  Please  stop  at  the  post- 
office  and  tell  Mr.  White." 

"  Wliy  the  devil  can't  you  answer  me,"  interrupted  Barnard. 
"  You  kao\Y  I  shall  have  fever  presently,  and  will  probably  die.  I 
want  to  see  Mr.  Maltby  half  an  hour  while  I  keep  my  senses." 


184  HARWOOD. 

"  He  is  coming,"  answered  Markliam.  "  I  passed  his  carriage 
on  the  road.  If  you  will  not  get  excited  you  may  see  him  a  little 
while." 

"Can't  you  prop  me  up  a  little  I  I  don't  want  to  drink  out  of 
that  ctamned  spoon  any  longer.  You  might  put  two  or  three  pil- 
lows under  my  shoulders  and  head." 

"  Very  well ;  wait  till  Maltby  comes.  Do  you  feel  any  pain  in 
your  breast  P 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  have  no  pain  anywhere."  He  listened  a  moment 
and  then  added,  "  I  hear  wheels.  Maltby  is  coming.  Go  get  some 
paper  and  ink,  Allen,  arid  do  you  and  the  doctor  'take  yourselves 
off  when  Maltby  comes." 

We  got  his  head  and  shoulders  a  little  elevated  with  Maltby's 
assistance,  and  then  left  them  together.  Dr.  Markhain  and  I 
walked  out  on  the  lawn. 

"  He  is  going  to  die,  Burton !"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  thought  this 
morning  he  might  get  over  it.  I  wonder  how  old  he  is  P 

"  Over  fifty." 

"  He  looks  much  younger.  You  might  as  well  let  him  talk  if 
he  wants  to  talk.  It  won't  make  much  difference." 

"  Is  it  the  rifle  shot  that  kills  him,  doctor  P  I  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Certainly.  The  wounds  in  his  arm  are  nothing.  They  would 
get  well  in  time.  But  his  lung  is  torn  to  rags.  He  will  die  to- 
night or  to-morrow.  There  are  two  or  three  fatal  symptoms  about 
him." 

When  we  went  into  the  house  Ret  said  to  me,  "  I  have  given 
orders  to  have  Midnight  ready  for  you  whenever  you  wish  to  ride. 
Order  her  when  you  want  her." 

I  thanked  her  with  a  look.  Mrs.  Maltby  and  Miss  Latour  were 
discussing  the  propriety  of  the  latter  lady's  taking  the  vacant  seat 
in  her  carriage  and  spending  some  days  at  Highlands.  Lucille 
wished  to  go,  but  was  doubtful  about  the  propriety  of  leaving 
Miss  Harwood.  Ret  settled  the  point  by  saying,  in  her  decided 
manner,  that  "  Lucille  could  drive  over  to  Harwood  daily  to  see 
her."  The  current  impression  seems  to  be  that  I  found  Delaney 
wounded  on  the  Baton  Rouge  road  and  got  the  doctor  to  bind  up 
his  wounds,  while  I  came  here  after  the  negroes  to  carry  him.  No 
one  but  Ret  and  the  doctor  knows  anything  about  iny  fight.  There 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  tell  any  one  else. 

"  Mr.  Maltby  says,"  remarked  his  wife,  "  that  Delaney  has  had 
a  quarrel  with  somebody  at  the  gambling  roam  in  town,  and  that 


BARNARD  HARWOOD.  185 

they  had  a  fight  when  they  met  on  the  road.  All  the  men  carry 
pistols,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  !"  said  Herbert,  "  and  I  never  will,  I  think." 

"  Charley  don't,"  said  Eet. 

"  I  don't,  either,"  said  I. 

" Neither  do  I,"  said  the  doctor ;  "if  I  get  maltreated  I  have 
no  weapons  but  pills." 

"  If  you  carry  those  knives  I  saw  on  Captain  Delauey's  bed 
just  now,"  said  Herbert,  "  I  think  you  are  pretty  well  armed. 
They  are  a  great  deal  worse  than  pistols.  You've  got  a  saw,  too," 
ho  added,  with  a  shudder.  "  I  saw  it !" 

"  You  saw  the  saw !"  said  the  doctor,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  sir!"  answered  Herbert,  "  and  I  don't  want  to  saw  it  any 
more." 

I  went  round  to  Barnard's  room  and  found  Maltby  busy  writ- 
ing. I  asked  the  sick  man  if  I  might  ride  to  town  and  return  in 
an  hour. 

"  No !"  he  answered,  decidedly ;  "  to-morrow  you  can  ride  where 
you  please  5  I  want  you  to-day." 

"  Can  you  sign,  Delauey  F  asked  Maltby ;  "  your  hand  is  so 
bundled  up— 

"I've  got  two  hands,"  rejoined  Barnard,  "and  I  can  write 
equally  well  with  either.  Let  me  see  what  you  have  written. 
Tell  the  doctor  to  come  in  again  before  he  goes,  boy.  In  five 
minutes." 

In  less  time  than  he  had  specified  Mr.  Maltby  came  into  the 
drawing  room  and  sent  the  doctor  and  me  to  the  patient.  Mark- 
ham  felt  his  wrist  and  looked  grave. 

"  Pooh,  doctor !"  said  Barnard,  coolly,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  give 
me  hope  of  recovery.  You  and  I  both  know  better.  How  long 
shall  I  be  able  to  talk  9  Give  me  a  candid  answer." 

"  From  six  to  twelve  hours,"  answered  Markhani.  "  I  wish  I 
could  cure  you." 

"  But  you  can't.  Here,  doctor,"  and  he  handed  him  a  bank 
note,  "  please  attend  to  that  poor  devil,  Becket,  and  tell  him  I 
have  paid  his  bill.  It  was  my  fault  that  he  was  hurt.  Good-bye, 
doctor ;"  there  was  a  momentary  gleam  of  emotion  on  his  smooth 
face  as  he  spoke  5  "  you  have  been  kind,  and  I  thank  you." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see any  one  ?  I  have  a friend  in 

town — Mr.  Hamilton — who  will  be  too  happy  to  come  if  you 
wish " 


186  HARWOOD. 

"  I  thank  you  again,  doctor,  but  my  time  is  limited. .  I  don't 
wish  to  see  any  one  to-day,  except  my  nurse  here."  The  doctor 
pressed  his  hand  and  went  out  of  the  sick  room.  "  Go  after  him, 
Allen  5  I  shall  sleep  a  little,  I  think.  Keep  within  reach  of  my 
voice." 

An  hour  later  they  had  all  gone.  Lucille  went  with  Mrs.  Malt- 
by,  after  we  had  had  luncheon  in  the  breakfast  room.  Mrs.  Malt- 
by  did  not  propose  seeing  the  dying  man  after  her  arrival.  There 
was  a  gloom  upon  us  all,  and  I  think  it  was  a  relief  to  Miss  Latour 
and  the  Maltbys  to  get  out  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  was  sitting 
in  the  library  conversing  in  a  low  tone  with  my  cousins  when 
Barnard  called  me. 

"  Come,  sit  close  to  me,"  he  said  ;  li  I  want  to  talk  to  you  while 
I  can."  His  voice  was  slightly  tremulous  and  his  face  haggard. 

"  Oh,  cousin,"  and  I  knelt  by  his  bedside  and  took  his  hand, 
"  let  me  talk  to  you  about  the  dread  realities  upon  which  you  are 
entering !" 

"  Presently.  Listen  to  me  now.  How  much  of  my  history  do 
you  know  P 

"  All  of  it — up  to  the  time  of  your  marriage  and  departure  for 
America." 

"  I  have  but  little  to.  tell  you,  then.  My  wife  and  I  embarked 
for  Baltimore,  but  the  vessel  was  driven  out  of  her  course  by  a 
long  storm,  and  put  into  Pensacola.  We  were  the  only  passen- 
gers. My  Alice  died  in  a  few  weeks  after  we  landed,  and  she  is 
buried  in  the  cemetery  at  Pensacola.  Lay  me  beside  her — will 
you  F 

"  I  will.    Don't  talk,  if  it  distresses  you." 

"  It  does  me  good.  Mark  Denham  and  his  sou  found  me  at 
Mobile  five  or  six  years  ago.  They  were  hunting  your  box  which 
contains  the  Lacy  diamonds.  Denham  had  some  information  and 
I  had  more.  Let  me  say  here  that  my  wife  died  in  happy  igno- 
rance of  everything  but  my  idolatrous  love  for  her.  She  thought 
my  uncle  gave  me  the  money  I  had,  and  although  she  gave  me 
much  information  about  the  lead  covered  box,  she  never  suspected 
me  of  any  ulterior  designs.  My  uncle  and  his  wife  were  accus- 
tomed to  converse  with  perfect  freedom  in  her  presence,  and  it 
was  from  their  conversation  that  she  learned  that  the  box  was 
buried  in  a  grove  of  three  remarkable  trees  on  the  edge  of  John 
Har wood's  estate.  My  visit  to  Baltimore  was  to  find  out  the  ex- 
act spot.  If  your  father's  papers  revealed  that,  you  baffled  me, 


BARNARD  HARWOOD.  187 

and  I  came  back  no  wiser.  It  was  then  that  Becket  gave  me  the 
exact  locality,  though  he  did  not  know  it.  He  had  opened  a 
drawer  in  this  house  and  found  a  bundle  of  letters,  and,  stumb- 
ling on  the  right  one,  he  read  and  remembered  a  memorandum, 
referring  to  the  box." 

"  On  the  hypothenuse  of  the  angle,  nine  feet  from  its  junction 
with  the  base,"  I  said. 

"  Precisely.  Go  there  to-morrow  and  get  it.  To  resume :  I  did 
not  rely  entirely  upon  Becket,  and  determined  to  see  the  papers 
myself.  It  was  only  to  get  a  bunch  of  keys  and  open  a  door.  I 
have  done  more  difficult  things.  But  you  thwarted  me  again. 
This  morning  I  provided  myself  with  the  needful  implements,  and 
would  have  found  the  box,  but  you  interfered  the  third  and  last 
time.  You  are  a  brave  boy,  Herbert !  I  have  never  been  met  as 
you  met  me  to-day,  except  by  your  father  and  John  Harwood. 
You  have  the  rash  courage  of  one  and  the  calm  self-reliance  of 
the  other. 

"  I  must  go  back  again  now.  Denham  had  got  entangled  in 
some  visionary  conspiracy,  and,  in  spite  of  my  cautions,  he  was 
caught  and  hanged — he  and  his  son " 

"  The  Densons !"  I  said. 

"  Yes.  He  changed  his  name  when  he  started  on  his  insane 
crusade.  There  is  some  legend  current  about  his  threatening  to 
haunt  the  grove.  You  will  think  I  am  unsettled  in  my  intellect 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  saw  something Pshaw !  it  was  some  infer- 
nal delusion — 

"  I  was  at  The  Laurels  the  other  night,  cousin,  and  the  Indian, 
Misty.  We  saw  you  and  Becket." 

"  You  relieve  me  very  much.  I  believe  I  was  frightened,  though 
the  sensation  was  new  to  me.  I  have  faced  real  dangers  more 
than  once  in  my  life  and  have  ever  borne  me  as  became  a  man  of 
our  race.  But  no  matter.  Go  ask  the  girl  if  she  will  come  now 
and  hear  how  her  father  died  P 

"  I  dare  not !"  I  answered,  shuddering. 

"  Eepeat  what  I  have  said.  If  she  shows  the  slightest  sign  of 
repugnance  I  shall  not  press  it.  But  I  have  watched  her  in  vain 
for  three  or  four  years  if  she  does  not  come." 

I  found  her  alone  in  the  library.  When  I  delivered  my  message 
she  rose  at  once,  pale  and  calm,  and  followed  me.  I  resumed  my 
old  position,  kneeling  by  the  side  of  his  bed,  and  she  stood  near 
his  pillow. 


188  HARWOOD. 

"  Have  you  divined  that  I  killed  your  father  P  he  said,  looking 
into  her  calm  and  pitying  eyes.  She  bowed  her  head  without 
speaking. 

"  Hear  how  it  was  done,  I  am  not  a  murderer.  I  think  John 
suspected  me  from  our  first  interview — or  perhaps  he  had  a  hint 
from  the  Scotchman  yonder — Gowrie — who  knew  me.  He  was 
cold  and  distant  always  when  we  met.  Twenty  years  had  changed 
us  both  in  appearance,  and  he  had  not  seen  me  since  I  was  a 
mere  boy.  I  had  ridden  from  Baton  Eouge  one  night,  late,  and 
was  going  to  Maltby's.  I  went  out  of  my  way  to  look  at  those 
Laurels,  and  to  see  if  they  were  haunted  by  anything  worse  than 
myself.  There  had  been  some  foolish  stories  afloat— I  think  Carr 
was  the  author — and  something  had  been  seen  there — I  never 
could  learn  what — but  everybody  avoided  the  road  after  nightfall. 
I  rode  in  among  those  trees  and  met  John  there.  He  had  doubt- 
less come  on  the  same  errand.  In  my  surprise  I  called  him  by 
name,  *  John  T — and  he  answered,  *  Barnard !'  I  cannot  remember 
all  that  passed.  We  had  always  quarrelled  when  we  were  young, 
and  now  he  struck  the  last  blow  by  referring  to  my  dead  wife  as 
the  partner  in  my  infamy.  I  answered  so  as  to  exasperate  him 
more  and  more,  and  when  he  was  nearly  beside  himself  with  rage, 
I  suddenly  drew  my  pistol,  and  said,  l  You  are  armed,  so  am  I. 
Count  ten  aloud  and  fire  P  Our  pistols  exploded  together.  The 
scar  from  his  bullet  is  still  on  my  neck.  As  he  fell  from  his  horse 
he  said,  l  God  protect  my  children !'  and  all  was  over.  Now  girl, 
curse  me  before  I  die  P 

61  May  God  forgive  you,  cousin,  as  freely  as  I  forgive  you,"  she 
answered,  as  she  knelt  by  me. 

"  So P  he  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on — "  I  rode  directly 
back  to  Baton  Eouge.  I  have  heard  John's  dying  words  every 
night  since  that  night  ;  and  I  think  if  I  had  had  a  human  heart 
I  might  have  been  softened  a  little.  I  did  set  myself  to  get  from 
Carr  the  mortgage  he  holds  on  the  Harwood  estate,  and  I  would 
have  cheated  him  to  gain  it.  I  thought  if  I  could  burn  that  mort- 
gage I  should  hear  those  words  no  more!  If  I  had  won  it  I 
should  have  given  back  to  Carr  all  my  other  winnings  from  him. 
I  tried  to  buy  it  from  him,  but  he  would  never  sell;  and  to-day  I 
have  directed  Maltby  to  pay  it — and  to  pay  Carr  everything  else 
he  has  lost  to  me.  I  never  cheated,  and  I  was  probably  clumsy 
in  my  first  attempt.  He  quit  playing  before  I  accomplished  my 
design.  And,  children,  I  did  not  try  to  kill  John.  Even  while  he 


BARNARD  HARWOOD.  189 

was  counting,  I  changed  my  mind,  and  when  he  called  out 4  TEN  !' 
my  hand  acted  without  my  will.  God  knows — if  there  is  a  God 
— that  I  am  innocent  of  the  intention  !" 

A  change,  rapid  and  appalling,  was  stealing  over  his  features. 

"  Oh,  cousin,"  I  said,  eagerly,  "  do  not  doubt  that  there  is  a  God 
— infinite,  eternal  and  unchangeable  in  mercy.  Oh,  if  you  could 
feel  as  the  poor  sinner  felt,  of  whom  I  read  to  you  to-day — the 
man  who  went  to  the  temple  to  pray " 

"Is  that  you,  my  Alice P  he  said,  looking  at  Bet,  "with  sad 
and  tearful  eyes!  Look,  love,  at  this  beautiful  land!  We  will 
live  here  in  peace,  and  I  will  try  to  find  the  religion  you  speak  of. 
If  it  is  made  for  sinners,  surely  I  can  meet  the  conditions !  And 
you,  Allen !  fie,  fie !  what  have  men  of  our  name  to  do  with  tears ! 
Are  you  weeping  for  me,  boy  ?  The  Indian  shot  me !  I  saw  him ! 
It  was  just,  for  I  shot  him  long  ago.  I  was  sorry  when  it  was  too 
late.  Let  him  go  free !"  He  closed  his  eyes  a  few  minutes,  and 
when  he  looked  at  me  again  the  terrible  expression  had  passed 
from  his  face,  and  he  looked  more  like  himself.  "  Say  it  again, 
boy,"  he  murmured, —and  the  sweet  voice  of  Eet  answered : 

"It  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that 
Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  of  whom  I  am 
chief!" 

"It  is  Alice!  No,  it  is  my  young  cousin.  Your  tears  are  a 
comfort  to  me,  children !  What  did  you  read,  Herbert  ?  <  He  saw 
him  afar  off!'  God  be  merciful  to  me — THE  sinner!" 

He  was  dead ! 

Mr.  Maltby  came  this  afternoon,  and  has  undertaken  every- 
thing. I  am  going  to  start  for  Peusacola  with  the  body  to-mor- 
row. Since  I  have  been  here  in  my  room  writing  the  shadows 
have  grown  longer,  and  now  the  sun  has  gone.  I  have  been  the 
more  sorrowful  because  I  wounded  him  to-day — though  my  reason 
tells  me  that  I  could  not  do  otherwise.  But  when  I  think  of  his 
arm,  and  the  bandages  upon  it,  my  heart  sinks  and  my  eyes  over- 
flow. I  could  bear  all  the  rest !  I  have  avoided  the  society  of 
every  one.  Herbert  was  here  an  hour  ago  with  a  message  from 
her.  I  sent  him  away,  saying  I  would  see  her  to-morrow.  It  has 
occupied  me,  and  perhaps  comforted  me,  to  write  all  the  after- 
noon. And  now  the  sad  story  is  all  told. 


190  HAEWOOD. 

CHAPTER  XXIY. 
A    YEAR    LATER. 

HARWOOD,  Sunday,  Augwt  8,  1836. 

I  IN"  an  hour  I  am  to  begin  my  journey  to  Pensacola.  All  will  be 
prepared,  and  I  have  only  to  hail  the  first  boat  for  New  Orleans, 
and  get  the  coffin  on  board.  Maltby  has  given  me  a  well  filled 
pocketbook,  acting,  as  he  says,  under  Barnard's  instructions.  I 
hope  to  be  back  in  two  or  three  weeks.  Charley  was  here  for  a 
few  minutes  this  morning;  he  did  not  dismount.  His  lather  is 
ill,  and  he  hastened  back  to  him.  I  have  hardly  exchanged 
words  with  my  cousins  to-day.  They  are  going  to  Carrville,  and 
there  are  other  carriages  gathering  about  the  grounds  to  swell  the 
funeral  procession.  I  cannot  get  up  the  least  excitement,  in  view 
of  the  trip  to  Florida,  but  am  longing  for  the  melancholy  duty  to 
be  finished.  Mr.  Hamilton  is  here,  and  there  will  be  religious 
services  in  the  house.  It  is  nearly  time  to  begin  them,  and  I  must 
go  down  stairs.  I  leave  my  portfolio  here  until  I  return. 

HARWOOD,  Monday,  August  30, 1836. 

Since  I  got  back  from  Florida  I  have  been  occupied  with  vari- 
ous matters,  and  this  is  the  first  night  I  have  had  access  to  my 
diary.  To-morrow  I  once  more  start  for  my  home,  and  probably 
shall  go  to  Europe  before  I  return  to  Carrville — if  I  ever  return. 
I  found  a  letter  from  Mr.  Callahan  here,  on  my  arrival  from  Pen- 
sacola, in  which  he  invited  me  to  join  him  at  once  in  New  York. 
And  I  received  a  second  letter  to-day  enclosing  a  note  from  Mr. 
Alfred  Parchment  of  London,  recommending  me  to  go  to  that  city 
without  delay.  There  has  been  so  great  a  change  in  my  circum- 
stances since  I  wrote  the  last  record  here  that  my  whole  life 
seems  to  be  beginning  anew.  I  will  try  to  recount  events  in 
order. 

In  the  cemetery  at  Pensacola  I  found  Barnard's  vault  without 
difficulty.  There  was  a  single  word  carved  on  the  marble  front — 
"  Alice."  I  caused  his  name  "  Barnard  "  to  be  added — and  saw 
his  body  placed  beside  his  wife's.  One  day  was  afterwards  occu- 
pied in  attending  to  some  instructions  of  Maltby's  regarding  the 
sale  of  Barnard's  property  in  the  beautiful  little  city.  It  was  at 
last  given  into  the  hands  of  Captain  Delaney's  lawyer— who  has 


A   YEAR  LATER.  191 

since  remitted  the  proceeds  to  Maltby.  He  has  paid  the  mortgage 
on  Harwood,  and  has  also  paid  Judge  Carres  estate  (the  Judge 
died  during  my  absence)  a  large  sum  of  money,  which  my  cousin 
said  he  owed  Judge  Carr.  Herbert  has  received  for  himself  and 
his  sister  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  stocks,  bonds,  and  money — and 
I  have  inherited  the  remainder  of  Barnard's  estate.  Already 
Maltby  has  paid  me  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  money,  and 
he  says  there  is  valuable  property  still  unsold  in  New  Orleans  and 
Mobile.  Barnard's  instructions  were  full  and  explicit,  and,  with 
the  exceptions  I  have  mentioned,  all  of  my  poor  cousin's  wealth  is 
left  to  "his  beloved  cousin,  Herbert  Harwood,  son  of  Allen  Har- 
wood, formerly  of  Harwood  House,  Essex."  There  has  been  no 
dispute  about  the  will.  Maltby  is  a  lawyer,  and  has  observed  all 
requisite  forms,  and  no  one  has  appeared  to  contest  it. 

Three  weeks  ago  to-day — that  is,  the  day  after  I  left  here — 
Eet  and  Herbert  drove  down  to  The  Laurels  and  dug  up  the  box. 
It  is  now  in  the  iron  closet,  and  we  are  going  to  open  it  to-night. 
Barnard  directed  Maltby  to  give  me  his  pocketbook  after  his 
death,  and  I  found  a  memorandum  in  it  which  I  will  copy  here 
and  then  destroy.  It  is  as  follows : 

"FACTS  ABOUT   THE  . 

"Sir  H.  had  determined  to  purchase  for  A.  the  plantation  ad- 
joining J.  It  is  undoubtedly  the  one  now  owned  by  C.,  and  sepa- 
rated from  the  other  by  the  stream.  A.  declined,  reason  not 

known,  ^ir  H.  had  brought  the to  this  country  to  surprise 

A.  with  the  gift,  when  he  took  possession  of  his  plantation.  There 
was  some  danger  of  robbery,  as  Sir  H.  had  incautiously  revealed 

the  value  of  the to  one  or  two  suspicious  characters.  He 

therefore  decided  to  bury  it,  instead  of  taking  it  back  by  way  of 
the  city.  It  is  in  a  grove  of  remarkable  trees.  All  these  are  facts, 
and  no  other  facts  are  known." 

Herbert  says  they  took  none  of  the  servants  with  them,  because 
they  did  not  wish  it  known  that  anything  so  valuable  was  in  the 
house.  Herbert  found  the  spade  in  the  bushes,  and  the  box  was 
near  the  surface.  When  they  reached  the  house,  on  their  return, 
he  carried  it  unobserved  into  the  drawing  room,  and  locked  it  in 
the  closet.  We  three  know  its  history,  and  no  one  besides. 

I  met  in  New  Orleans  an  old  acquaintance  from  Baltimore,  who 
was  in  search  of  employment.  He  and  Mr.  Bayard  are  now  in 
Oarrville,  unpacking  the  goods  which  have  arrived.  I  have  been 


192  HARWOOD. 

aiding  them  for  several  days,  though  I  have  no  longer  any  busi- 
ness connection  with  the  establishment.  The  people  received  the 
intelligence  of  my  good  fortune  and  of  my  changed  name  with  a 
great  deal  of  interest.  The  belief  is  current  that  my  name,  Har- 
wood,  has  been  assumed  under  instructions  in  the  will.  My  inti- 
mates know  the  truth,  but  they  do  not  talk  much  about  it,  I 
suppose.  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  has  been  always  kind  and  friendly, 
is  more  kind  than  ever.  He  has  always  some  new  question  to 
ask  me  about  my  Mother  and  sisters.  I  think  he  listens  most 
intently  when  I  talk  of  Alice. 

I  must  go  down  now  and  open  the  box.  Oh,  shall  I  ever  spend 
another  night  at  this  house  1  I  forgot  to  say  that  Carr's  marriage 
is  postponed  on  account  of  his  father's  death.  He  was  here  to- 
day, but  went  home  shortly  after  dark.  He  looks  melancholy, 
poor  fellow.  He  and  Eet  had  a  long  talk  on  the  verandah,  while 
I  beat  Herbert  two  games  of  chess.  Miss  Latour  has  gone  home. 
Not  one  word  has  been  spoken  about  the  marriage  by  any  of  us. 
Mr.  Hamilton  told  me  of  the  postponement. 

MIDNIGHT. 

We  have  opened  the  box  and  examined  the  contents.  The  cer- 
tificate of  the  Wheal  Pentland  stock  is  now  in  my  pocketbook.  It 
is  transferable  only  on  the  books  of  the  corporation,  by  Allen  Har- 
wood,  gentleman,  his  heirs,  administrators,  executors  or  assigns. 
The  probable  amount  of  money  it  may  represent  does  not  appear 
so  enormous  to  me  now  as  it  did  a  month  ago.  The  coins,  about 
two  hundred,  are  mostly  gold  and  silver,  and  uone  of  us  have  ever 
seen  any  like  them.  There  is  a  sort  of  pedigree  of  several  of 
them — fully  fifty,  I  suppose — in  a  little  manuscript  volume  we 
found  in  the  box.  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  about  the  diamonds. 
There  are  several  other  brilliant  jewels,  emeralds,  rubies,  and 
amethysts,  but  the  diamonds  are  in  a  separate  box,  and  the  name 
"  Lacy  "  is  on  the  cover,  both  inside  and  out.  There  are  finger 
rings,  earrings  and  bracelets,  and  one  brooch  and  one  necklace.  It 
is  the  last  mentioned  that  is  the  most  magnificent.  I  have  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  the  value  of  these  jewels,  and  Eet,  who  is  a  better 
judge,  said  her  estimate  would  sound  fabulous,  and  that  she  would 
not  name  it.  There  is  an  inventory  of  jewels  and  coins,  but  no 
value  set  down.  Most  of  the  coins  are  marked  "  unique  "  on  the 
schedule.  By-the-bye,  the  inventory  professes  to  be  a  "  list  of  the 
Lacy  coins f  and  then  a  "  list  of  the  Lacy  minor  jewels,"  and 


A   TEAE  LATER.  193 

finally,  a  "  list  of  the  Lacy  diamonds."  As  we  sat  there,  looking 
at  the  blazing  gems,  I  thought  how  poor  and  contemptible  they 
were  in  comparison  with  one  kind  glance  from  her  calm  eyes.  I 
am  glad  that  I  am  going  away.  I  cannot  endure  her  presence  any 
longer.  When  she  looks  at  me  I  feel  my  heart  bound,  and  the 
blood  rushing  to  my  face.  She  seems  to  know  all  that  I  think ; 
and  once  or  twice  to-night  I  caught  her  looking  composedly  at 
me,  while  I  was  allowing  my  foolish  imagination  to  picture  a 
future,  in  which  she  reigned  queen  of  my  life;  and  each  time 
the  conviction  flashed  upon  me  that  she  knew  my  thoughts. 

Who  were  the  Lacys,  I  wonder? 

On  the  night  that  Barnard  died  the  Indian  was  here.  He  left 
the  panther  skin  with  Herbert,  who  saw  him,  saying  it  belonged 
to  "young  chief  Hubbard."  Since  that  night  he  has  never  been 
seen.  His  wigwam  is  empty,  and  the  Indian  has  gone — some- 
where. Mr.  Maltby  says  he  is  a  Seminole,  and  no  doubt  has  re- 
turned to  Florida,  to  join  the  tribes  now  in  arms  against  the  whites. 
If  I  could  feel  that  it  was  an  entirely  just  warfare  waged  against 
these  savages,  I  think  I  should  volunteer ;  but  there  may  be  some 
fighting  to  be  done  in  Texas,  and  I  have  a  longing  for  the  wild, 
rough  life  of  a  frontier  soldier,  and  very  little  shrinking  from  the 
possible  fate  of  such  a  warrior.  If  it  were  not  for  Mother  and  my 
sisters,  I  might 

But  I  will  not  indulge  these  thoughts.  I  am  going  to  walk  into 
town  early.  They  made  different  arrangements  down  stairs  5  but 
I  will  have  no  leave-taking.  I  have  written  on  a  card  "good-bye, 
dear  cousins  j"  and  I  shall  leave  it  on  my  portfolio,  in  which  1 
once  more  lock  up  this  melancholy  diary.  When  shall  I  open  it 
again? 

HARWOOD,  MONDAY,  August  31, 1837. 

A  whole  year  ago!  I  have  returned  in  the  nick  of  time.  Char- 
ley is  to  be  married  to-morrow  !  I  thought  it  would  have  been  all 
over,  or  I  should  have  delayed  my  arrival. 

I  have  brought  back  with  me  a  pair  of  magnificent  whiskers. 
They  were  in  embryo  when  I  left  America  last  September  5  they 
have  matured  in  Italy,  and  Greece,  and  Egypt.  Many  days  have 
I  lingered  in  many  a  famous  capital.  I  also  imported  an  entirely 
new  manner.  I  have  acquired  from  observation  and  long  prac- 
tice that  charming  air  of  indifference,  and  indolence,  and  superi- 
ority which  distinguishes  travelled  men.  Alas !  I  have  not  had 

13 


194  HAEWOOD. 

the  opportunity  to  display  this  last  acquirement.  Old  memories 
haunt  me  in  this  locality ;  and  if  I  were  boy  enough  to  turn  back 
a  leaf  or  two  I  should  lose  my  manhood,  as  I  recalled  the  events 
I  last  recorded.  Allons! 

When  I  reached  Baltimore,  a  year  ago,  I  learned  that  Mr.  Cal- 
lahan  had  been  there  to  see  my  Mother;  and  he  had  taken  cer- 
tain depositions  from  her  and  others  j  got  various  certificates  from 
the  British  Consul ;  and  left  a  message  for  me,  instructing  me  to 
get  my  Mother's  marriage  certificate,  and  a  certified  copy  of  the 
registers  of  my  birth  and  the  birth  of  Alice  and  Grace,  and  to 
present  myself  with  these  documents  at  his  office  in  New  York  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  complied  with  all  these  instructions,  and  two 
days  after  my  arrival  in  New  York  I  sailed  for  Liverpool.  I 
might  say  a  great  deal  about  the  voyage — the  people  I  met  on 
shipboard  and  in  England — but  I  don't  feel  in  the  mood  to-night. 
Hereafter,  I  may  think  it  worth  my  while  to  recount  some  of  my 
adventures.  I  went  to  London;  found  Mr.  Alfred  Parchment, 
and  was  escorted  by  that  gentleman  to  Lavington,  Lord  Morton's 
residence  in  Devonshire.  Here  I  found  my  only  surviving  Eng- 
lish kinsmen,  namely,  Lord  Morton,  and  Sir  Allen  Harwood,  my 
father's  first  cousin.  His  brother,  Sir  Charles,  had  died  before  he 
attained  his  majority.  These  gentlemen  received  me  with  cordial 
kindness,  and  my  entire  European  life  was  spent  in  their  society. 
It  was  at  the  instance  of  Allen,  my  beloved  cousin,  that  Mr.  Parch- 
ment had  written  for  me.  In  a  day  we  were  "  Allen  "  and  "  Her- 
bert," and  while  he  lived,  the  intercourse  between  us  two  was 
peculiarly  close  and  intimate.  I  told  him  all  my  dearest  secrets ; 
and  I  believe  he  opened  his  whole  heart  freely  to  me.  His  health 
was  then  very  much  impaired,  and  his  physicians  had  ordered 
him  to  the  south  of  France  for  the  winter.  Lord  Morton  was  to 
accompany  him,  and  it  required  very  little  persuasion  to  induce  me 
to  join  their  party.  Before  we  left  England  the  formal  transfer  of 
the  Wheal  Pentland  stock  was  made  to  me,  and  as  Lord  Morton 
vehemently  opposed  the  sale  of  it,  I  still  own  it,  I  intend  to  pay 
my  Mother  and  sisters  their  proportion  of  its  value,  according 
to  their  inheritance  under  American  law ;  or  I  will  transfer  their 
proportion  of  the  stock  itself,  whichever  they  may  prefer.  I  had 
no  trouble  whatever  in  the  business.  Mr.  Parchment  had  charge 
of  Lord  Morton's  legal  business,  as  well  as  Sir  Allen's ;  and  as 
Mr.  Callahan  had  obtained  all  the  certificates  that  were  requisite, 
under  Mr.  Parchment's  instructions,  the  matter  was  speedily  set- 
tled. 


A  YEAE  LATER.  195 

On  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  Garonne,  Lord  Morton  found  a 
chateau,  occupied  only  by  an  old  housekeeper,  and  we  spent  the 
winter  there.  Allen  talked  to  me  about  his  boyish  days  $  his  col- 
lege life ;  his  early  friends ;  his  sickly  brother,  who  was  so  kind 
and  loving  always;  and,  finally,  one  glorious  night,  when  the 
moon  was  bright  in  a  cloudless  sky,  he  told  me  about  his  love — 
Mary  Lacy.  "You  seem  like  a  dear  brother,  Herbert,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  am  telling  you  what  no  mortal  has  heard  before."  During 
his  school-days,  he  spent  his  vacations  at  Lavington,  with  his  guar- 
dian, and  he  met  her  there  while  they  were  mere  children.  Then 
in  later  years  he  encountered  her  in  London  society,  when  she  was 
in  her  first  season.  Then  he  learned  that  she  was  going  to  marry 
his  friend  and  her  brother's  friend,  and  the  rest  of  his  short  life 
was  spent  in  rooting  out  the  affection  that  had  brightened  that 
life  from  his  boyhood.  He  told  me  his  story  like  a  man,  and 
spoke  hopefully  of  a  time  to  come  when  he  might  love  her  with- 
out sin.  She  was  a  happy  wife  now,  and  never  knew  the  throne 
she  occupied  in  his  heart.  Then  I  told  him  of  Bet,  and  the  brave 
gentleman,  who  had  laid  bare  his  wounds  to  me  with  calm  cour- 
age, was  overcome  by  the  recital  of  my  sorrows.  "  It  is  a  luxury 
to  sympathize  with  you,  Herbert,  because  you  are  healthy  and 
strong,  and  will  have  to  endure  through  life  what  I  shall  soon 
escape.  You  don't  know  how  thankful  I  felt  when  the  doctor  said 
the  climate  here  might  do  me  good,  as  I  understood  him  to  mean 
that  he  had  no  such  expectation." 

We  went  to  Italy  in  the  early  spring ;  then  to  the  Nile,  and 
spent  the  summer — or  the  most  of  it — in  Greece.  He  came  home 
a  month  ago,  to  die.  "  Che  sard,  sard." 

I  wrote  to  Mother  from  Paris,  saying  that  I  would  go  home  by 
way  of  New  Orleans.  I  wanted  to  look  once  more  into  those  dark 
eyes,  so  calm  and  quiet  5  but  Jhave  seen  them,  flashing  with  girl- 
ish merriment ;  I  have  seen  them,  kindle  at  the  recital  of  some 
heroic  deed,  and  I  have  seen  them  sparkling  in  teardrops.  And, 
now,  that  I  have  seen  her,  I  am  disappointed.  She  is  not  sad  any 
longer ;  she  is  not  gay,  but  she  is  quietly  happy — brimfull,  run- 
ning over  with  happiness.  Oh,  Ret !  what  a  dog  I  would  be  if  I 
could  wish  you  otherwise ! 

When  I  landed  this  morning,  I  got  a  horse  and  rode  out  here, 
like  a  crazy  man.  I  had  only  time  to  remember  that  I  must  be  on 
my  good  behaviour,  when  I  walked  into  the  house.  I  saw  a  white 
dress,  then  the  wearer  of  it  rushed  upon  me,  with  an  embrace  and 


196  EAEWOOD. 

a  little  hysterical  scream,  half  laugh  and  half  sob.  It  was  Grace ! 
then  Alice,  and  then  my  Mother !  JSc/ordinary  man  could  main- 
tain his  gravity  under  such  circumstances.  My  good  behaviour 
was  forgotten  in  my  bewilderment,  while  half  a  dozen  were  kissing 
me  and  pulling  me  to  pieces  among  them.  Herbert's  salutation 
was  characteristic.  First  he  hugged  me,  then  he  stood  off  a  yard 
surveying  me,  and  then  the  scoundrel  said — 

"  Oh,  golly !  just  look  at  his  whiskers,  Eet !    Ain't  they  prime  ?" 

He  is  a  very  trying  young  man  to  encounter,  when  one  is  endeav- 
ouring to  maintain  one's  self-possession.  I  gave  up  at  once,  and 
behaved  naturally  all  the  evening. 

Eet  looks  so  superlatively  happy.  She  and  Lucille  have  had  an 
overwhelming  quantity  of  private  business  to  transact.  I  have 
seen  her  only  by  snatches  all  day.  Mother  and  the  girls  are  also 
in  full  feather.  They  seem  to  have  some  terrible  secret  among 
them,  which  they  are  keeping  from  me.  They  are  here,  in  answer 
to  an  invitation  from  Eet,  which  Mother  says  "she  could  not 
withstand."  I  wrote  to  Herbert  two  or  three  months  ago,  telling 
him  that  I  would  come  to  Louisiana  first,  and  Eet  wrote  upon  that 
text.  Mother  received  my  letter,  announcing  th^  same  intention, 
a  day  or  two  after  Eet's  invitation  reached  her,  and  she  answered 
the  letter  in  person.  I  evaded  her  twice  to-day,  when  she  had 
nearly  cornered  me  for  a  talk ;  but  she  followed  me  into  my  room 
to-night,  and  putting  her  arms  round  my  neck,  she  whispered — 

«  Do  you  still  love  Eet,  Herbert  f ' 

"Yes,  Mother."  1LJI 

"  She  is  a  lovely  woman,  my  son!"  I  did  not  answer,  and  she 
handed  me  a  box,  marked  "  Lacy."  "  Here  are  your  diamonds, 
Herbert." 

"  They  are  yours,  Mother.    I  never  dreamed " 

"  Well,  I  give  them  to  you.    They  are  yours  now." 

"  I  can't  wear  necklaces  and  bracelets,  Mother,  and  you  surely 
don't  want  me  to  sell  them  ?"  , 

"  Do  what  you  like  with  them,  Herbert.  Good  night,  my  dear 
.boy,"  and  so  she  left  me. 

I  thought  I  would  give  them  to  Alice  and  Grace,  but  I  have 
changed  my  mind.  Wait  until  to-morrow. 

TUESDAY,  September  1, 1837. 

How  much  gratitude  is  due  to  God  for  creating  so  beautiful  a 
world !  I  have  been  blind  hitherto !  I  have  looked  with  tran- 


A   YEAR  LATER.  197 

sient  admiration  upon  lovely  scenes  in  both  hemispheres,  but 
never  until  to-day  have  I  seen  the  marvellous  beauty  of  the  earth. 
I  have  just  come  in  from  a  ramble  in  the  woods,  all  the  way  to 
The  Laurels,  and  have  brought  back  with  me  a  handful  of  wild 
flowers,  mostly  inodorous,  but  surpassingly  lovely.  I  must  ar- 
range them  presently  and  take  them  to . 

I  had  come  to  a  definite  conclusion  about  the  diamonds  this 
morning,  and,  after  breakfast,  I  went  into  the  library  with  them, 
to  wait  for  an  opportunity.  I  read  a  book — read  like  a  man  stuff- 
ing for  an  examination — but  I  don't  know  what  book  it  was.  At 
last  I  saw  her  passing  through  the  little  hall,  and  I  called  her. 

"Bet,  cousin,  please  come  here  a  moment." 

"  Please  don't  keep  me  long,"  she  answered,  as  she  came  in.  "  I 
have  so  many  things  to  do." 

"  I  know  you  have.  Here,  sit  down.  I  want  to  ask  a  great 
favour  of  you,"  and  I  shut  the  door.  She  looked  surprised, 
blushed,  and  then  grew  pale  as  J  produced  the  jewel  case. 

"  I  want  you  to  accept  these  and  to  wear  them  to-day." 

"  I  won't !"  she  answered,  and  she  moved  towards  the  door.  I 
slipped  round  the  table,  and  backed  up  against  the  door. 

"You  don't  get  out,  madam,  until  you  explain  yourself,"  I  said, 
decidedly.  "  Pray  why  won't  you  take  the  diamonds  ?" 

"  They  belong  to  cousin  Alice.  What  right  have  you  to  dispose 
of  her  property  ?" 

"  She  gave  them  to  me  last  night.    Eind  some  other  reason." 

"  It  would  be  indecorous  to  receive  a  present  of  such  value." 

"Oh,  Ret,  I  am  going  away  soon.  I  am  going  back  to  England, 
and  I  want  to  leave  these  with  you.  Don't  talk  about  values.  I 
do  not  consider  them  worth  one  kind  look  from  you." 

"When  are  you  going?"  and  again  the  blood  was  in  her  cheeks 
and  forehead.  / 

"  Soon.  To-morrow,  maybe.  Will  you  take  thrfm  ?"  and  I  held 
the  box  out  to  her.  "  I  want  you  to  wear  them  to-day — — " 

"  I  cannot.  It  would  be  highly  indecorous.  It  would  be  insult- 
ing to  Lucille !  I'm  ashamed  of  you !"  and  her  eyes  were  spark- 
ling and  her  face  burning. 

"  Will  you  please  explain  why  f  I  a^ked,  in  wonder. 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  let  me  out^soe  answered,  desperately.  I 
moved  away  from  the  door,  and  she  said  with  great  composure : 

"  Because  the  bridesmaid  should  not  wear  diamonds  when  the 
bride  has  none  to  wear.  It  would  be  in  horrid  taste,  to  say  the 
least," 


198  HARWOOD. 

"The  bridesmaid!  Oh,  Bet!  go  now  if  you  dare!  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  it  is  Lucille  who  will  be  married  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  she  has  some  such  intention." 

"  And  you  knew  that  I  thought Come  back  here!"  and  I 

stamped  my  foot  violently.  "I  swear  that  I  will  set  the  house  on 
fire  if  you  leave  me !" 

She  came  back  trembling,  half  laughing  and  half  crying. 

"  Cousin  Alice  told  me  the  other  day  that  you  had  fallen  into  a 
mistake.  You  never  asked  me.  How  could  I  know  f  I  had  her 
in  my  arms  then,  and  her  face  was  hidden  on  my  breast. 

"  What  must  I  say  to  you,  Eet,  my  beloved  ?  You  know  all  I 
wish  to  say.  It  will  take  a  lifetime  to  tell  you  how  I  love  you." 

"  I  know.  You  need  not  say  anything.  You  have  been  telling 
me  a  year  and  a  half!"  She  extricated  herself  from  my  arms  and 
sat  down  on  the  sofa,  motioning  me  to  a  seat  beside  her. 

"Ah,  Eet !"  I  answered,  "  I  have  spent  all  these  dreary  months 
in  trying  to  hide  my  love  from  you !  How  could  I  tell  you  ?" 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  you  saved  Herbert  ?  Do  you  re- 
member how  you  held  my  hand,  and  how  you  said  with  your  eyes, 
with  your  hand,  with  every  tone  of  your  voice,  fcE  love  you!  I  love 
you!  I  love  you!'  Oh,  my  darling,  I  have  been  happier  since  that 
day  than  ever  before,  since  my  father  died!  Do  you  remember 
when  I  gave  you  the  letters,  in  the  drawing  room  yonder,  and  how 
you  flamed  with  rage  when  I  said  the  Baltimore  Harwoods  were 
false?  Then  I  knew  you  were  my  cousin,  and  I  thought  you 
were  Barnard's  son,  and  I  thought  I  must  never  marry  Bar- 
nard's son,  because  my  father's  letter,  leaving  me  free  in  all 
else,  forbade  all  intercourse  with  that  unhappy  man  and  his 
family.  And  then" — and  the  tears  filled  her  gentle  eyes — "and 
then  I  tried  to  find  excuses  for  Barnard,  and  I  thought  I  saw  the 
possibility  of  some  other  explanation  of  his  dark  story  5  and  when 
I  learned  your  true  relationship — do  you  remember?  it  was  on  the 

6th  of  August  last  year !— oh,  happy  day ! "  And  once  more 

she  hid  her  eyes  upon  my  breast. 

"  Eet,  have  you  been  loving  me  all  this  time  I  And  oh,  cruel ! 
keeping  me  in  ignorance  when  you  knew  I  was  dying  for  a  word 
or  a  look " 

"You  foolish  boy,  I  have  been  telling  you  all  the  time!  Be 
quiet,  sir !  or  I'll  run  away.  Everybody  else  knew  it — Charley, 
Lucille,  cousin  Alice,  your  sisters.  Why,  the  first  words  your. 
Mother  said,  when  she  kissed  me,  were,  4  My  daughter !' " 


A   YEAE  LATER  199 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  in  a  towering  rage  presently,"  I  said.  "  I  ani  too 
happy  now.  How  could  I  be  such  a  mole  !  I  have  avoided  you ! 
stayed  in  Europe,  trying  to  kill  iny  love  by  absence— — " 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  avoided  me  much,  sir  !"  said  she,  mali- 
ciously. "  I  don't  believe  you  stayed  an  hour  longer  in  Europe 
than  was  necessary.  I  think  you  came  to  New  Orleans  instead 
of  New  York,  you  undutiful  boy  !  to  see  me  before  you  saw  your 
Mother.  I  think  you  have  been  with  me  every  minute  when  you 
were  not  obliged  to  be  elsewhere.  Oh,  such  work  as  I  have  had 
with  Charley  and  your  dear  Mother,  to  keep  them  quiet! " 

"  How  could  you  torture  me,  Bet  ? " 

"  Come,  sir,  you  have  only  been  here  a  day,  and  the  torture  did 
not  last  very  long.  Did  you  wish  me  to  run  up  to  you  and  say, 
*  Please  to  marry  me,  sir !' " 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  vow  that  I'll  never  marry  you  until  you 
ask  me." 

"  Try  it !  How  dare  you !  you  great  rude  monster  !  Let  me 
go !  I'll  tell  your  Mother !"  and  she  tore  from  me,  pausing  a  mo- 
ment at  the  door  to  throw  me  one  loving  look,  and  then,  covering 
her  glowing  face  with  white  hands,  sped  away. 

WEDNESDAY,  September  2, 1837. 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  nearly  done  with  journal  writing.  In- 
deed, I  do  not  know  any  sort  of  writing  that  will  express  my 
present  emotions.  How  can  I  write  coherently,  while  Eet  sits 
there,  only  a  few  yards  from  me  I  She  pretends  to  be  engrossed 
in  a  whispered  dialogue  with  Mother.  I  wish  I  could  make  a 
picture  of  those  two !  My  Mother  is  seated  in  the  great  armchair, 
and  my  Eet  is  on  a  lower  seat  at  her  knee,  and  Mother's  slender 
fingers  are  tangling  Eet's  brown  curls.  I  am  jealous  of  both  of 

them  by  this  light !  They  love  each  other  more  than .  Eet 

shot  a  sly  look  at  me  and  stopped  that  atrocious  slander.  My 
love !  my  love ! 

The  wedding  was  a  great  success  last  night.  There  were  forty 
dashing  beaux  here.  Some  from  the  neighbourhood,  sons  of 
planters,  one  or  two  from  New  Orleans,  quondam  admirers  of  the 
bride,  no  doubt.  Several  from  Baton  Eouge,  army  officers  and 
embryo  lawyers.  Unfortunately,  the  first  bridesmaid,  Miss  Har- 
wood,  did  not  dance,  but  she  was  kind  enough  to  play  for  the 
dancers,  and  I,  who  was  too  bashful  to  dance,  turned  over  the 
music  for  her.  Probably  some  of  the  beaux  thought  I  was  a 


200  HARWOOD. 

regular  muff,  and  probably  they  were  right  in  their  judgment. 
It  was  midnight  before  they  were  all  gone.  Charley  and  his  bride 
went  to  his  home  in  the  state  carriage — followed  by  a  cavalcade 
of  squires  and  dames,  returning  to  their  domiciles.  Mr.  Maltby's 
carriage  took  his  family  and  the  city  gentlemen ;  and  niy  Mother 
and  sisters,  Mr.  Hamilton,  the  doctor  and  I,  were  the  only  guests 
who  remained  at  Harwood.  We  spent  a  quiet  hour  before  we 
separated  for  the  night  in  the  lovely  moonlight,  on  the  broad 
verandah.  Somehow,  we  fell  into  couples — Alice  and  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton, Grace  and  the  doctor,  while  Mother  and  Herbert  courted 
each  other  with  unblushing  effrontery.  Eet  and  I  had  several 
small  dialogues — about  five  seconds  long.  She  was  intent  on  hos- 
pitable cares,  and  took  fiendish  delight  in  tantalizing  me  by 
flying  off  to  attend  to  some  needful  household  duty  a  dozen  times 
in  the  hour.  But  to-day  I  have  had  a  glorious  time.  Mother 
wanted  to  see  The  Laurels,  and,  escorted  by  Herbert,  she  riding 
Midnight,  while  he  bestrode  Dick,  his  rascally  pony — they  went. 
Eet  and  I  walked.  It  is  only  a  mile  or  two,  and  the  morning  was 
charming.  The  girls  had  letters  to  write  to  Baltimore  friends, 
and  we  four  formed  the  party.  We  stayed  an  hour  in  the  shade  of 
the  famous  trees,  Herbert  recounting  the  story  of  the  bathing  ad- 
venture, when  he  was  "  drownded,"  to  eager  listeners,  and  I  was 
forced  to  fight  my  terrible  duel  over  again  in  detail.  They  would 
not  relinquish  a  solitary  word,  and  kept  me  longer  in  telling  the 
story  than  the  time  occupied  in  the  combat.  They  imperiously  de- 
manded each  phase  of  my  changing  emotions  from  slight  auger  to 
cool  ferocity  in  the  concluding  passages. 

On  the  return  journey  the  equestrians  soon  distanced  us,  and 
we  lingered  a  little  to  admire  the  lovely  glimpses  of  the  bright 
stream  as  it  came  into  view  through  the  glades  of  the  forest.  And 
the  darling  tyrant  steadfastly  persisted  in  her  inquisition  until  I 
had  told  her  all  my  thoughts  on  that  terrible  midnight,  when  I 
walked  out  to  the  haunted  grove  alone.  She  seemed  to  gloat  over 
the  recital  of  my  misery,  though  she  clutched  my  arm,  and  looked 
at  me  with  tearful  eyes,  while  her  face  was  bright  with  smiles. 
In  turn  I  propounded  sundry  questions,  and  will  now  proceed  to 
note  down  the  substance  of  her  replies.  Much  that  has  been 
mysterious  in  the  past  record  is  cleared  up  by  the  dialogue  that 
enlivened  that  lovely  walk. 

The  "engagement"  betwixt  Charley  and  Eet  was  a  veritable 
engagement,  in  so  far  as  the  tacit  agreement  of  all  parties  in- 


A  YEAE  LATER.  201 

terested  was  concerned.  Both  of  them  had  been  taught  from 
early  childhood  that  they  should  be  man  and  wife  when  they  were 
of  age.  There  had  not  been  much  talk  betwixt  them  on  the  sub- 
ject, as  Eet  instinctively  avoided  it,  and  Charley  was  not  a  very 
eager  wooer.  After  I  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and  especially 
after  Herbert's  rescue  and  our  subsequent  intercourse  (while 
Charley  was  in  New  Orleans),  she  dismissed  forever  all  idea  of 
fulfilling  this  quasi  engagement.  When  he  returned  I  was  on  my 
way  to  Baltimore,  and  the  dear  girl  says  I  took  her  heart  with 
me.  She  was  certain  that  I  was  the  son  of  her  father's  life-long 
enemy,  and  many  sorrowful  days  were  spent  in  the  struggle  be- 
tween her  old  devotion  to  her  father  and  her  new  affection  for  me. 
But  she  quietly  gave  Carr  to  understand  that  there  would  be  no 
marriage.  He  expostulated  a  little  and  then  yielded,  confessing 
that  he  did  not  love  her  as  he  ought  to  love  his  wife,  but  certainly, 
as  a  dear  sister,  whom  he  had  known  familiarly  from,  infancy. 
Curiously  enough  he  did  not  ask  her  any  questions  about  her  own 
affections,  but  readily  promised  to  say  nothing  about  the  sunder- 
ing of  the  old  compact.  "  Charley  was  very  useful,"  she  said,  "  in 
keeping  other  young  gentlemen  away."  But  he  had  met  Lucille 
while  in  New  Orleans,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  settled  that  he  was 
free  from  the  old  tie,  he  began  to  discover  that  he  did  like  Miss 
Latour  amazingly.  Accordingly  another  trip  to  New  Orleans  soon 
after  my  departure  brought  matters  to  a  crisis,  and  Eet  moved  to 
Harwood  to  play  hostess  to  Charley's  fiancee.  When  I  returned, 
and  Carr  announced  his  approaching  marriage,  it  was  nothing  but 
my  repugnance  to  talk  upon  the  subject  prevented  a  full  expla- 
nation twenty  times  a  day.  The  truth  is,  Charley  was  snubbed 
whenever  he  approached  the  topic,  and  at  last  Eet  discovered  that 
I  was  in  unblissful  ignorance  of  the  true  condition  of  affairs,  and 
supposing  the  truth  would  inevitably  be  revealed  almost  imme- 
diately, she  rather  enjoyed  my  discomfort.  Then  events  crowded 
rapidly  upon  us.  The  attempt  to  rob,  and  then  the  conflict  at  The 
Laurels,  then  Barnard's  death,  and  my  departure  to  Peusacola. 
When  I  returned  I  found  many  changes  had  occurred.  Mr.  Carr 
was  dead,  the  marriage  postponed,  Lucille  gone,  and  I  was  sum- 
moned to  New  York  and  thence  to  Europe.  I  wrote  regularly  to 
Herbert  and  sometimes  to  Carr,  but  never  asked  a  question  about 
his  marriage.  Indeed,  I  could  not.  I  received  only  two  letters 
from  Charley,  and  he  imitated  me  in  avoiding  that  subject.  Her- 
bert's letters  were  carefully  examined  by  Miss  Eet,  and  therefore 


202  HARWOOD. 

I  was  not  enlightened  by  him.  "  I  could  not  endure  the  thought," 
she  says,  "  that  any  one  else  should  tell  you.  I  had  not  decided 
how  to  tell  you,  when  you  called  me  yesterday  into  the  library, 
but  I  knew  the  time  had  come  then  /" 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  diamonds,  Ret " 

"  I  knew  all  about  the  diamonds.  Cousin  Alice  told  me  the 
night  before.  Indeed,  she  made  me  promise  to  tell  you  at  the 
first  opportunity,  saying  she  would  not  allow  her  boy  to  be  kept 
in  misery  any  longer.  She  says  I  am  a  <  hardened  wretch !'" 

"Mother  always  tells  the  truth,  Ret," 

"  Does  she?  She  has  told  me  many  things  about  you,  sir!  I 
know  the  larger  part  of  your  history,  up  to  your  arrival  in  Carr- 
ville,  and  now  I  mean  to  know  the  rest !  I  want  that  journal, 
sir !" 

"  You  shall  have  it  when  you  take  me !  Oh,  Ret !  consider  how 
long  I  have  waited  for  you !  I  can't  live  another  week  without 
you " 

"You  are  certainly  stark  crazy!  I  don't  intend  to  think  of 
matrimony  for  ever  so  long " 

"Let  us  make  a  bargain,  Ret,"  I  said,  desperately.  "Will  you 
let  Mother  fix  the  day  ?  I  promise  to  say  nothing  if  you  will 
promise  to  be  guided  by  her.  Is  it  a  compact  ?" 

"I  don't  know — I'll  see  about  it — there's  the  house,  so  behave 
circumspectly,  sir." 

"  Ret,"  I  said,  stopping  suddenly,  "if  you  don't  promise  to  set- 
tle this  point  this  very  day  I  will  burn  the  journal  before  I  sleep !" 

"  What  a  cold-blooded  tyrant !  Come  on,  sir.  I  will  promise  to 
talk  to  her  if  she  asks  me." 

And  they  are  talking  about  it  this  blessed  minute.  I  can  tell 
by  Ret's  shy  glances  and  by  Mother's  happy  face. 

Ret  has  suddenly  demanded  this  book.  She  stands  here  by  my 
side  while  I  trace  these  final  lines.  Shall  I  ever  be  allowed  to 
see  it  again?  I  cannot  refuse  to  give 

HARWOOD,  Christmas,  1837. 

By  special  favour  I  have  the  privilege  of  writing  a  little  more  in 
this  journal.  For  one  solid  month  I  have  been  the  merest  slave. 
I  no  longer  have  liberties,  preferences,  opinions  or  property.  On 
Thursday,  November  26th,  I  was  taken  into  legal  custody  by  a 
remorseless  female  tyrant,  who  has  never  ceased  to  domineer  over 
and  hector  me  since  that  day.  She  sits  just  opposite  to  me  now 


A  YEAE  LATEE.  203 

in  this  dear  library.  Everybody  else  has  gone  to  Manahio,  and 
we  are  to  follow  presently.  We  are  to  dine  with  Carr  to-day. 
Maltby,  wife  and  daughter,  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Doctor  Markhain 
are  in  the  party.  On  this  day  week  we  are  to  have  them  all  here 
—  Herbert  doing  the  honours.  Eet  and  I  are  guests  of  Mr.  Her- 
bert Harwood,  and  we  have  an  invitation  to  "  stay  here  and  live 
all  over  the  house  for  forty  years."  I  have  engaged  to  kill  two 
wild  turkeys,  and  Carr  has  promised  another  deer.  We  killed 
one  two  days  ago.  I  am  now  the  ostensible  owner  of  Midnight  — 
with  an  encumbrance.  Eet  wore  the  diamonds  a  month  ago,  and 
she  has  locked  them  up  since,  vowing  that  she  will  wear  them  no' 
more.  There  are  other  articles  that  once  belonged  to  me  which 
she  wears  -  There  !  she  says  I  must  stop  "  scribbling,"  give  her 
back  "her"  book,  and  get  ready  to  start.  To  hear  is  to  obey  ! 


YEAR'S  DAY,  1838. 

I  shall  have  a  quiet  hour  or  two.  Eet  is  superintending  the 
cooking  arrangements  and  I  got  her  keys  and  have  stolen  iny 
diary.  I  am  writing  in  her  room  and  am  tolerably  safe  from  in- 
terruption. My  darling  says  I  write  such  "  horrid  nonsense  "  that 
she  is  not  willing  to  trust  "  her  book  "  in  my  hands.  Oh,  how 
happy  I  am  !  But  I  have  promised  to  write  nothing  "  horrid  " 
this  time. 

There  was  a  rich  scene  in  the  library  this  morning.  Dr.  Mark- 
ham  called  early,  pretending  he  had  patients-  in  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  but  he  came  to  see  Grace.  I  was  in  the  breakfast  room 
and  Grace  was  in  the  library.  The  doors  were  open  and  I  heard 
what  I  now  relate.  I  must  say,  by  way  of  preface,  that  Markhain 
has  been  extremely  attentive  to  my  little  sister,  and  that  she  evi- 
dently admires  him.  He  went  into  the  library,  hunting  for  her, 
and  did  not  observe  me  as  he  passed  the  door. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Grace,"  said  the  medico. 

"  Good  morning,  doctor.  Take  a  seat  ;  I  have  just  been  read- 
ing about  you." 

"  About  me!  I  did  not  know  my  fame  was  so  extended.  Do 
you  mean  in  that  big  book  f 

"  Yes.     Sit  down  and  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

"  Hey  !    I  don't  know.    Is  it  long  <?" 

"  I  shan't  read  it  now,  sir  !"  and  I  heard  the  book  slap  as  she 
closed  it  5  "  it  is  a  beautiful  day." 

"  Yes  ;  rather.  But  you've  no  business  with  those  thin  shoes 
on  !  Have  you  been  out  ?" 


204 

"  Certainly.     Alice  and  I  walked  a  mile  at  least  this  morning.'' 

"  In  those  shoesi^ 

"  Not  both  of  us.    She  had  her  own  shoes,"  answered  Grace. 

"  Humph !  you  have  been  taking  lessons  from  Burton !    Wei 
read  the  book." 

"  You  will  have  to  ask  a  little  more  politely,  and  also  to  m 
fest  a  little  more  anxiety  to  hear  it  first." 

"  Hey  F  and  the  doctor  meditated.     "  Well,"»he  said  at 
"  tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  say  and  I'll  saV  it." 

I  heard  Grace  turning  over  the  leaves  and  presently  she  began 
to  read :  "  The  country  people  use  kitchen  physic,  and  .common 
experience  tells  us  they  Jive  freest  from  all  manner  of  infirmities 
that  make  least  use  of  apothecaries'  physic.  Many  are  overthrown 
by  preposterous  use  of  it,  and  thereby  get  their  b$£e,  that  might 
otherwise  have  escaped.  Some  think  physicians  kill  as  many 
they  save,  and  who  can  tell  (4  Here's  some  Latin,7  said  Grace, 
parenthesis,  i  and  I  am  afraid  to  try  to  read  that ;  besides,  I  doirt 
know  what  it  means ').  ho^  inanv  murders  (tfiey  make  in  a  year 
(more  Latin),  that  may  freely  kill  folks  andrhave  a  reward  for  it  ? 
and  according  to  the  Dutch  provJerb — a  irew  physician  must  have 
a  new  churchyard  5  and  who  observes  ijfnot  ?"  Here  Grace  went 
off  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughing. 

"  What  the  dev I  mean,  what  book  are  you  reading,  Miss 

Grace?"  /    / 

"  Wait,  wait !"  she  answered,  fi  there's  more  of  it,  and  it  gets 
better  and  better."  She^sume^a :  "  Many  that  did  ill  under  phy- 
sicians' hands  have  happily  escaped  when  they  have  been  given 
over  by  them — left  to  God,  and  nature,  and  themselves.  'Twas 
Pliny's  dilemma  of  old :  every  disease  is  either  curable  or  incur- 
able. A  man  recovers  of  it  or  is  killed  by  it ;  both  ways,  physic  is 
to  be  rejected."  Another  long  laugh,  in  which  the  doctor  joined. 
Then  Grace  went  on :  "  If  it  be  deadly  it  cannot  be  cured ;  if  it 
may  be  helped  it  requires  no  physician — Nature  will  expel  it  of 
itself.  Plato  made  it  a  great  sign  of  an.  intemperate  and  corrupt 
commonwealth  where  lawyers  and  physicians  did  abound  5  and 
the  Eomans  detested  them  so  much  that  they  were  often  banished 
out  of  their  city,  as  Pliny  and  Celsus  relate — for  600  years  not  ad- 
mitted. It  is  no  art  at  all,  as  some  hold,  no,  not  worthy  the  name 
of  a  liberal  science  (nor  law  neither),  as  Pet.  And.  Canonherius,  a 
patrician  of  Eome  and  a  great  doctor  himself,  proves  by  sixteen 
arguments,  because  it  is  mercenary  as  now  used — base,  and,  as 
fiddlers  play,  for  a  reward." 


A  YEAR  LATER.  205 

"  Oh,  doctor,"  said  Grace,  "  it  is  prime!  as  cousin  Herbert  says 
— it  is  positively  jolly !"/ 

"  What  book  is  that  f '  said  the  doctor.  "  Burton,  by  all  the 
gods  !  I  thought  so  !  AT  here  did  you  get  this  book,  Miss 
Grace  V 

"  It  is  my  brother's,"  she  answered. 

"  Did  he  select  this  delectable  passage  for  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  $  I  stumbled  on  it  by  accident  just  before  you  came." 

"  Young  ladies  have  a  wonderful  faculty  for  stumbling  upon 
forbidden  fruit.  However,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  it. 
Old  Burton  don't  make  many  mistakes.  Do  you  like  to  read 
hiinF 

"  Not  much.  There  is  so  much  Latin,  and  besides,  he  is  so 
prosy." 

"  I  suppose  you  prefer  the  stuff  you  call  poetry  f '  said  the  doc- 
tor. 

"  Poetry  is  not  i  stuff,'  sir— at  least  it  is  not  so  bad  as  <  doctor's 
stuff,'  according  to  Burton.  He  says  a  little  lower  down  that 
the old  gentleman  was  the  first  inventor  of  physic." 

"If  I  was  not  so  old,"  said  the  doctor,  deliberately,  " I 
should " 

"Old!"  interrupted  Grace. 

"  Well,  I  mean  if  you  were  not  so  young " 

"  Young !     I'm  nineteen !" 

"The  d — euce*you  are!  Hey?  I  was  going  to  say  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  if  I  might  fall  in  love  with  you  ?  But  it  would  be 
a  horrid  shame  to  ask  so  charming  a  young  lady  to  marry  an  old 
devil  of  a  doctor.  There !  you  need  not  run.  I'm  not  going  to 
say  another  word.  I  am  going  to  dine  here  to-day,  ain't  1 1  Well, 
I  must  go  see  Carr's  sick  negro.  Good  bye,  Miss  Burton !" 

"Don't  call  me  Miss  Burton,  if  you  please." 

"  Hey  *?  I  should  like  to  call  you  Mrs.  Markham.  There !  I  am 
going !  Suppose  I  were  to  brush  my  hah*  nice  and  smooth  and  let 
my  whiskers  grow  f 

"  Do  go,  doctor.  Your  patient  will  die— -felo  de  se  instead  of 
felo  de  medico.77 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  know  Latin  ?  Grace,  I  am  in  earnest ; 
would  you  think  me  insane  if  I " 

"  There,  doctor,  you  have  carried  this  joke  far  enough,"  said 
Grace. 

"  Joke !    I  tell  you  I  love  you,  you  little  vixen !"  and  here  I 


206  HARWOOD. 

sneaked  out  of  the  breakfast  room,  as  the  business  appeared  to  be 
growing  serious. 

The  mail  has  just  arrived.  My  lady  has  brought  me  a  letter 
with  the  London  post  mark.  It  is  addressed  to  "Sir  Herbert 
Harwood,  Bart,"  and  is  from  Mr.  Parchment.  It  contains  but  a 
few  lines,  informing  me  of  the  removal  of  all  technical  obstacles, 
and  inviting  me  to  "  take  possession  of  my  estate  in  Essex." 
*******  * 

HARWOOD  HOUSE,  ESSEX,  November  26,  1847. 

My  lady  gave  me  my  old  book  to-day,  which  has  but  one  blank 
leaf  left.  She  must  know  it  by  heart,  as  I  have  caught  her  read- 
ing it  many  times  in  the  past  ten  years.  What  can  I  say  on  this 
final  page  ?  My  darling  will  have  it  back  when  I  complete  the 
record,  and  she  has  forbidden  me  to  write  anything  about  her. 
But  I  have  nothing  else  to  write  about  and  I  have  no  thoughts  in 
which  she  has  not  a  place — my  Eet ! 

I  erred  in  the  above  statement.  I  have  four  things  to  write 
about,  to  wit :  John  Harwood,  aged  eight,  a  young  rascal  of  fiery 
impulses  and  tender  heart.  Herbert,  aged  six,  who  promises  to 
be  gentle  and  good,  exhibiting  a  certain  calm  determination  in 
surmounting  difficulties.  Allen,  my  baby  boy,  claiming  the 
allegiance  of  my  household,  although  manifesting  no  "moral 
qualities  "  to  mention. 

But  the  fourth 1  have  kept  the  best  for  the  last.  She  stands 

here  at  my  knee,  tugging  at  my  watch  chain.  Imperious  and  wil- 
ful, with  three  years7  experience  of  life,  and  thirty  years  of  wisdom 
in  her  clear,  calm  eyes.  Her  mother's  eyes  !  and  her  name  is  Eet. 
Xot  Henrietta,  but  EET  !  There  is  no  name  like  that ! 


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